11 


BR  148  .A8  1913 

Atkins,  Gaius  Glenn,  1868- 

1956. 
Pilgrims  of  the  lonely  road 


Pilgrims  of  the  Lonely  Road 


Pilgrims  of  the 
Lonely  Road 


By     .c 

GAIUS  GLENN  ATKINS 

Minister  of  the  Central  Congregational  Church 
Providence 


New  York  Chicago  Toronto 

Fleming     H.     Revell     Company 

London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  19 13,  by 
C  7  3  FLEMING  H.   REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  North  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:       100    Princes    Street 


To  A.  H.  A. 
Good  Comrade  of  the  Friendly  Road 


Contents 


Introduction 

9 

I. 

The  Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius    . 

21 

II. 

The  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine   . 

6i 

III. 

The  Imitation  of  Christ 

1 06 

IV. 

Theologia  Germanica 

149 

V. 

Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress     . 

191 

VI. 

Newman's  Apologia  .... 

.     245 

VII. 

Tolstoy's  Confessions 

.     281 

Conclusion 

.     335 

Introduction 

THE  author  of  these  studies  does  not  know  any 
better  way  of  preparing  an  introduction  to  them 
than  by  giving  some  account  of  their  genesis. 
They  were,  to  begin  with,  a  series  of  rather  informal  ad- 
dresses on  certain  books  of  the  confessional  type  given  to 
the  people  of  the  author's  parish  as  a  Lenten  exercise 
under  the  caption  •'  Books  of  the  Spirit."  In  the 
addresses  themselves  the  books  were  considered  with 
no  more  reference  than  seemed  absolutely  necessary 
to  the  men  who  wrote  them  and  with  little  reference,  at 
least  in  the  beginning  of  the  series,  to  the  deeper  connec- 
tions of  the  spiritual  process  of  which  the  books  them- 
selves are  the  revelation.  Something  of  the  informal 
character  of  that  first  presentation  and  the  method  of  it 
has  persisted  in  spite  of  much  revision.  There  is  very 
little  need  to  say  so  much  as  this,  for  the  discriminating 
critic  will  discover  it  directly. 

It  was  quite  impossible,  however,  to  go  far  in  the  study 
of  such  books  as  these  without  finding  in  them  varying 
aspects  of  a  deeper  movement  which  underruns  them  all. 
The  sense  of  this  grew  with  the  process  of  revision  :  the 
processes  which  the  books  reveal  rather  than  the  books 
themselves  came  to  be  uppermost  in  the  author's  mind. 
It  became  apparent  that  each  book  recorded  some  aspect 
of  a  common  quest,  undertaken  at  the  bidding  of  im- 
mense spiritual  compulsions,  pursued  in  interior  loneli- 
nesses by  men  following  a  road  whose  major  landmarks 
are,  in  each  instance,  much  the  same  and  end  almost  in 

9 


10  INTRODUCTION 

the  same  country,  though  indeed  the  various  pilgrims  do 
not  at  all  agree  in  the  way  of  naming  the  goals  towards 
which  they  strive. 

This  reshaping  of  material  beneath  the  author's  hand 
has  made  it  hard  to  find  a  fit  name  for  the  studies,  for 
here,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  is  not  so  much  a  study  of 
certain  books  of  the  spirit  as  of  certain  pilgrims  of  the 
lonely  road  who  set  out  in  search  of  peace.  No  need  to  say 
that  the  records  with  which  we  are  dealing  do  not  exhaust 
the  story  of  the  search  for  peace  ;  great  regions  are  wholly 
unapproached,  great  masters  not  so  much  as  named.  But 
on  the  whole  these  men  and  their  books  are  typical,  es- 
pecially of  the  quest  as  influenced  by  what  is  deepest  and 
most  distinctive  in  Christianity.  Only  one  man — Marcus 
Aurelius — is  uninfluenced  by  the  Christian  spirit  and  in- 
deed there  is  not  a  little  in  the  life  of  the  great  stoic  em- 
peror which  suggests,  as  Martha  has  said,  that  some  breath 
of  Christianity  itself  had  already  begun  to  draw  down  into 
his  life  and  philosophy.  Marcus  AureHus  apart,  all  the 
rest  of  this  fellowship  have  been  so  germinally  influenced 
by  Christian  conceptions  in  all  the  action  and  reaction  of 
their  lives  that  without  Christianity  it  is  utterly  impossible 
to  imagine  what  they  would  have  been.  Here  is  a  body 
of  very  great  literature  which  is  inexplicable  except  as  we 
discern  through  and  behind  it  the  play  of  great  domi- 
nant Christian  conceptions  and  experiences. 

More  than  that  it  is  by  no  mere  accident  or  indeed 
through  the  superficial  necessities  of  a  Christian  environ- 
ment that  these  men  speak  the  language  of  Christianity,  fall 
back  upon  its  assurances  and  are  guided  by  its  great  affir- 
mations. They  are  compelled  to  do  just  that.  Had  they 
been  driven  by  the  same  deep  needs  but  with  no  knowl- 
edge at  all  of  the  great  Christian  formularies,  along  the 


INTRODUCTION  ii 

roads  of  their  pilgrimage,  one  sees  that  they  would  none 
the  less  have  found  the  equivalent  of  these  formularies, 
though  with  other  names,  and  in  the  deeper  part  of  them 
have  borne  witness  to  the  same  truths.  The  reason  for 
this  is  not  far  to  seek.  Life  is  everywhere  and  always  the 
same.  Similar  processes  and  experiences  are,  for  those 
who  seek  to  live  sincerely,  unescapable  in  the  end.  All 
pilgrims  tell  the  same  story  and  when  you  begin  to  plot 
the  road  they  have  travelled  you  find,  to  repeat,  that  they 
have  all  been  following  the  same  way-marks  and,  if  they 
have  at  all  succeeded  in  their  quest,  have  come  at  last  to 
the  same  region.  They  have  fought  with  the  same  weap- 
ons and  rested  in  the  same  assurances  and  these  assurances 
prove  to  be  the  supreme  and  encompassing  certainties  of 
Christianity  itself.  All  this  casts  a  light  which  our  own 
time  sorely  needs  upon  the  necessities  of  the  spirit,  the 
genesis  of  faith  and  the  deep-rooted  inevitableness  of  the 
forms  in  which  faith  expresses  itself. 

So  considered  the  experiences  of  such  men  as  St. 
Augustine,  John  Bunyan,  Tolstoy,  as  well  as  the  consid- 
eration of  those  more  organic  experiences  which  find  a 
voice  in  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ"  and  the  "  Theologia  Ger- 
manica,"  supply  new  interpretations  of  the  significance  of 
the  great  Christian  contentions.  They  are  rooted  in  hfe. 
They  are,  in  the  end,  simply  the  attempt  to  formulate  the 
experiences,  confidences,  abnegations,  battlings,  sereni- 
ties and  victories  which  the  pilgrim  has  known,  in  the 
light  of  those  interpretations  of  God  in  His  world  which 
have  made  life  possible  for  great  and  sorely  tried  men. 
It  is  not  hard  to  understand  Augustinianism,  for  example, 
when  one  understands  Augustine  himself.  So  inter- 
preted his  theology  is  no  theology  at  all,  but  simply  the 
endeavour   of  a   man   who   has   lived   greatly,  suffered 


12  INTRODUCTION 

greatly  and  triumphed  greatly  to  uncover  for  us  all 
the  secret  places,  the  hidden  sources  of  his  strength 
and  peace.  St.  Augustine  did  not  begin  as  a 
theologian ;  he  became  a  theologian  only  as  he  strove 
to  recast  and  formulate  for  the  instruction  and  di- 
rection of  others  that  by  which  he  knew  himself  to 
have  been  guided  and  saved.  His  theology  is  simply 
the  hardening  down,  the  casting  into  definite  moulds  of 
what  was  immensely  fluid,  vivid,  vital  as  he  himself  lived 
through  it.  What  is  true  of  St.  Augustine  is  true  of 
every  great  theologian  and  every  great  system  of  the- 
ology, except  of  course  those  systems  of  theology  which 
have  been  recast  by  men  who  have  dealt  with  them  as 
logic  rather  than  life  and  have  themselves  failed  to  share 
the  great  and  searching  experiences  of  which  the  systems 
were  in  their  beginning  the  expression.  Great  creeds 
are,  in  the  end,  just  the  expression  of  life  in  its  most  in- 
tense and  eager  aspects,  seeking  to  uncover  and  describe 
the  springs  of  its  power,  the  hills  of  its  serenity.  We 
should  indeed  be  all  the  gainers  if  we  might  have  a  new 
nomenclature  which  would  wholly  free  us  from  the  mis- 
takes, misconceptions  and  prejudices  which  centuries  of 
theological  debate  have  woven  in  and  about  our  inherited 
systems.  Apparently  this  is  quite  impossible.  And 
since  it  is  impossible,  there  is  no  better  way  in  which  to 
be  made  sure  that  we  are  not  dealing  with  either  shadows 
or  the  artificial  constructions  of  speculation  than  to  dis- 
cern how  vital  these  great  contentions  were  in  their  be- 
ginning, how  impossible  it  is  to  consider  great  spiritual 
experiences  apart  from  them  and  how  constantly,  now  in 
this  form  and  now  in  that,  they  renew  and  reassert 
themselves ;  to  see  how  inevitable  all  the  great  pilgrims 
of  the  roads  of  the  spirit  have  found  in  the  Incarnation, 


INTRODUCTION  13 

which  is  the  witness  of  God  with  us,  and  in  the  Cross, 
which  is  the  sign  of  God  suffering  for  us  and  in  a  Justify- 
ing Faith,  which  is  after  all  a  kind  of  holy  adventure — 
the  throwing  of  the  whole  weight  of  life  in  its  practical 
conduct  upon  such  persuasions  as  these — the  light  of  all 
their  seeing,  the  seat  of  all  their  power,  the  source  of  all 
their  peace. 

Besides  such  general  considerations  as  these,  these 
studies  have  also  made  other  things  evident.  Large 
mystical  elements  enter  into  all  confessional  literature. 
Nothing  is  more  significant  in  our  own  time  than  the 
new  employment  of  the  word  mystic.  It  has  long 
stood  for  the  undefinable  and  for  formless  and  difficult 
spiritual  attitudes.  It  is  by  no  means  easy  to  define 
mysticism  even  now,  but  we  are  coming  to  see  with  in- 
creased clearness  that  the  mystical  temper  is  not  formless 
and  above  all  that  it  is  not  sterile.  On  the  contrary  it 
has  been  unbelievably  rich  in  great  and  transforming 
qualities  of  life.  The  mystic  moves  in  regions  of  inner 
certainties,  he  ventures  much  upon  the  testimonies  of  his 
own  experience.  He  is  persuaded  that  he  is  in  intimate 
and  fruitful  fellowship  with  the  Unseen  and  Eternal  and 
all  that  is  strongest  and  most  significant  in  his  life  is 
born  of  this  fellowship.  He  gives  a  validity  to  the 
emotions  which  our  arid  intellectualism  has  too  long 
denied.  He  rejoices  in  far  horizons  and  fills  them  with 
wonder  and  adoration.  And  yet  with  all  this  he  does 
not  lose  himself  nor  does  his  consuming  attachment  to 
God  mean  detachment  from  life  and  its  duties.  He  is 
often  unexpectedly  practical,  brave  and  far  seeing.  He 
is,  without  knowing  it,  a  pragmatist  in  the  regions  of 
faith.  He  knows  whom  he  has  believed  and  justifies  his 
faith  by  the  fruits  of  it  in  his  own  soul.     The  interest  in 


14  INTRODUCTION 

mysticism,  which  is  just  now  so  apparent,  is  a  testimony 
to  the  value  of  such  attitudes  as  these  as  a  corrective  of 
our  own  deficient  attitudes.  We  have  refused  to  allow 
the  emotions  their  proper  place  in  a  rich  and  ordered 
inner  hfe;  we  have  depended  too  much  upon  pure  defi- 
nition ;  we  have  refused  to  recognize  that  the  real  value 
of  much  which  so  wonderfully  dominates  and  transforms 
life  is  that  it  cannot  be  defined,  that  it  opens  on  the  side 
towards  the  infinite,  and  so  allows  room  and  place  for 
forces  within  us  which  are  as  impatient  of  mere  defini- 
tions and  abstractions  as  our  vision  is  impatient  of 
shadows  and  barriers  which  veil  from  us  those  distances 
in  which  the  eye  rejoices  and  all  lesser  things  find  their 
true  place  and  proportion. 

It  is  evident,  in  the  next  place,  that  these  men  were 
committed  to  a  quest  for  peace  in  liberty.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  separate  either  peace  or  liberty  from  the  goal 
which  they  sought.  They  sought  peace  in  liberty. 
Each  one  of  them  was  much  weighed  upon  by  what 
William  James  calls  the  sense  of  incompleteness.  They 
did  not  always  so  name  it.  It  was  for  them  very  much 
more  often  the  sense  of  sin  and  moral  impotency.  But 
however  they  did  name  it  they  sought  to  be  set  free 
from  fightings  and  fears  within,  from  rigid  and  inade- 
quate systems  without.  They  were  always,  without  ex- 
ception, doubly  constrained.  Sometimes  they  sought  to 
escape  doubts  and  perplexities  and  always  they  sought 
to  be  freed  from  a  strife  which  filled  all  the  table-lands  of 
their  souls  with  its  clamour,  from  tendencies  and  long- 
ings which  continually  defeated  them  in  their  endeavour 
after  better  things  and  constantly  drew  them  back  into 
the  shadow,  but  to  whose  unchallenged  supremacy  they 
never   for  a  moment  consented.     As  they  sought  this 


INTRODUCTION  15 

inner  peace  however,  they  were,  as  we  see  when  we 
stand  far  enough  back  from  the  whole  movement,  com- 
pelled at  the  same  time  to  seek  new  forms  of  faith,  wor- 
ship, ecclesiastical  organization  and  even  of  society 
itself.  Even  men  of  the  type  of  Newman  who  react 
against  the  extreme  individuahsm  of  their  inherited  faith 
and  who  seek  spiritual  security  beneath  the  shelter  of 
almost  immemorial  institutions  are,  none  the  less,  seeking 
freedom  and  space  in  which  spiritually  they  may  live 
and  move  and  have  their  being.  By  so  much  the 
more  are  the  larger  movements  which  flow  beneath 
and  about  them  movements  towards  liberty.  Mys- 
ticism and  half  obscure  impulses  towards  spiritual  de- 
mocracy, tugging  like  a  ground  swell  at  the  bases  of 
pre-reformation  society  and  breaking  into  tumult  after 
the  reformation,  are  a  part  of  that  quest  for  liberty  which 
has  become  the  dominant  social  factor  of  the  last  two 
centuries  and  which,  in  one  form  or  another,  fills  all  our 
horizons  with  its  portent  or  its  promise.  We  cannot 
dwell  too  strongly  upon  the  real  relation  between  forces 
which  are  everywhere  operative  in  the  world  to-day  and 
the  deeper,  quieter  movements  to  which  the  "  Theologia 
Germanica,"  for  example,  gives  voice.  That  displacement 
of  outer  authority  by  inner  regnancies,  that  crowning 
and  mitering  of  the  soul  which  is  at  once  the  record  of 
the  development  of  individual  life  and  stormy  national 
movements  would  have  to  be  so  utterly  rewritten  as  to 
become  unimaginable  if  we  considered  it  apart  from  those 
interpretations  of  hfe  and  the  will  of  God  which  St.  Au- 
gustine supplies  or  from  the  possibility  of  a  man  setting 
out  alone  with  no  passport  but  the  roll  in  his  bosom  of 
which  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  is  the  record. 

Finally  each  man  or  book  with  which  we  are  now  deal- 


i6  INTRODUCTION 

ing  marks  the  achievement  of  some  great  transition. 
They  move  us  by  the  recital  of  what  they  sought  and  ac- 
comphshed  because,  Hke  Pilgrim,  they  set  out  running 
from  this  or  that  city  of  destruction  and  came  in  the  end 
unto  another  city  set  in  cloudless  light  upon  some  far- 
seen,  far-sought  summit.  St.  Augustine  accomplished 
the  transition  from  paganism  to  Christianity ;  the  "  Theo- 
logia  Germanica "  tells  between  the  lines  the  story  of 
obscure  multitudes  who  passed  from  the  externalism  into 
which  mediaeval  Catholicism  had  hardened  down  into  a 
most  intimate  sense  of  God,  a  most  intimate  communion 
with  Him,  unconditioned  by  sacraments,  creeds  and 
authorities.  Even  Tolstoy,  unsatisfactory  as  many  of 
his  contentions  are  now  seen  to  be,  really  does  voice 
all  the  discontent  of  our  own  time  with  the  vast  burden 
of  a  civilization  whose  materialism  feeds  men  at  the 
best  with  bitter  bread  and  at  the  worst  is  cruel  and  crush- 
ing. It  is  not  too  much  to  say  then  that  each  man 
or  book  in  this  fellowship  marks  the  beginning  of  a  new 
and  better  time  and  even  though  long  spiritual  and  social 
movements  seem  to  bring  us  back  to  the  place  from  which 
they  set  out  we  are  always  returning  with  a  difference, 
and  always  upon  higher  levels. 

Such  studies  as  these  would  not  really  be  complete, 
indeed  they  cannot  rightly  be  begun,  without  some  con- 
sideration of  a  man  who,  'jaexpectedly  enough,  is  the 
point  of  departure  in  this  whole  process :  that  man  is 
Saul  of  Tarsus.  Such  a  study  was  originally  planned, 
but  it  has  been  omitted,  partly  because  the  book  is  quite 
long  enough  as  it  is  and  partly  because  in  the  judgment  of 
the  publishers  any  study  of  St.  Paul  would  give  to  a  book 
of  this  sort  a  seemingly  theological  aspect  which  would 
really  misrepresent  its  character.     The  author  can  only 


INTRODUCTION  17 

say  that  it  is  unfortunate  indeed  that  we  cannot  consider 
the  confessions  of  St.  Paul  in  the  same  free  and  vital  way 
in  which  we  may  consider  the  confessions  of  St.  Augus- 
tine. His  letters  are  the  first  in  the  long  literature  of 
Christian  confession ;  he  is  the  first  great  mystic ;  he 
achieved  the  first  great  transition  and  what  we  call  his 
theology  is  nothing  but  his  own  attempt  to  make  evi- 
dent to  others  the  great  conceptions  by  which  he  him- 
self was  empowered  and  set  free.  The  springs  of  all  our 
passion  for  liberty,  at  least  as  that  passion  has  been  at  all 
shaped  or  influenced  by  the  faith  which  has  dominated 
Europe  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  take  their 
rise  in  him.  And  all  the  forces  which  prevent  liberty 
from  becoming  license,  which  subordinate  and  consecrate 
it  are  equally  to  be  found  in  the  considerations  by  which 
he  sought  to  restrain  and  discipline  the  members  of  his 
little  churches.  He  handled,  though  he  did  not  so  dream, 
forces  which  were  destined  to  be  deployed  upon  vaster 
fields,  conceptions  which  were  to  be  urged  in  remote  and 
strangely  unexpected  controversies  ;  for  the  ground  of 
emancipation,  human  brotherhood,  democracy,  declara- 
tions of  independence,  revolutions,  the  death  of  caste,  the 
abolition  of  privilege,  the  exaltation  of  a  common  hu- 
manity and  the  genesis  of  the  social  conscience  are  all  to 
be  found  in  his  teaching. 

In  his  emphasis  upon  faith  as  a  fructifying  and  con- 
trolling principle  in  the  life  of  the  spirit  he  is  the  very 
fountainhead  of  all  that  is  finest  and  most  fruitful  in  the 
centuries  which  follow.  The  faith  which  he  urged  was 
spiritual  openness,  receptivity,  self-committal.  It  had  its 
mystical  qualities  and  its  practical  applications  ;  it  was  the 
readjustment  of  life  on  a  higher  level  and  in  answer  to 
new  and  commanding  realities  ;  it  was  taking  God  at  His 


18  INTRODUCTION 

word  ;  it  was  simplicity  ;  it  was  emancipation  from  fear ; 
it  was  living  as  children  live  in  their  father's  house,  know- 
ing indeed  that  life  is  neither  simple  nor  easy,  that  the 
household  itself  is  related  to  other  causes  and  interests, 
wide  and  difficult,  that  somewhere  and  somehow  there  are 
burdens  to  be  borne  and  battles  to  be  fought  and  contin- 
gencies to  be  faced,  difficulties  to  be  overcome,  and  yet 
with  a  trust  that  the  father  is  equal  to  the  burdens  of 
fatherhood  and  that  the  household  is  to  be  a  place  of 
peace,  serenity  and  quiet  dependence.  He  would  have 
all  those  to  whom  he  wrote,  for  whom  he  wrought,  saved 
from  their  futile  endeavours  after  their  own  salvation,  not 
because  they  were  not  needing  to  be  saved,  but  because 
God  Himself  was  concerned  with  their  salvation,  com- 
mitted to  it  by  all  that  the  Divine  implies.  They  them- 
selves might  therefore  be  at  peace.  There  are  champions 
who,  having  taken  our  causes  into  their  own  hands,  dis- 
miss us  to  rest.  When  God  Himself  has  undertaken  the 
salvation  of  His  children  He  asks  of  them  not  strife,  but 
the  serene  acceptance  of  His  own  effective  grace.  No 
need  to  say  that  just  in  so  far  as  any  of  the  pilgrims  of 
the  lonely  road  have  come  into  any  kind  of  peace  they 
have  found  it  in  just  these  regions.  Sometimes  they 
acknowledge  their  debt  to  this,  the  first  of  their  comrades  ; 
sometimes  they  are  unwitting  of  their  obligation.  But 
if  St.  Paul  is  not  the  first  of  all  the  great  company, 
known  and  unknown,  who  have  followed  the  gleam  as  the 
light  of  it  has  been  mediated  by  the  great  facts  and  sug- 
gestions of  the  Christian  Evangel,  then  the  author,  at  least, 
does  not  know  who  is. 

Here,  then,  are  the  determining  principles  of  all  that 
these  studies  seek  to  illustrate.  They  rehearse,  now  in 
this  fashion,  now  in  that,  the  experiences  of  men  who  set 


INTRODUCTION  19 

out  to  find  liberty  and  peace,  achieve  great  transitions 
and  emancipations ;  men  who  are  always  lonely  and  yet 
belong  to  a  vast  fellowship,  who  follow  various  roads  and 
yet  journey  by  a  common  highway.  Such  men  are  con- 
stantly repeating  and  rehearsing  the  experiences  of  the 
past  and  yet  with  a  difference ;  they  laboured  in  secret 
but  published  their  labour  to  the  world ;  they  were  ac- 
counted dreamers  but  their  dreams  have  rewritten  his- 
tory ;  they  have  released  in  the  silences  forces  which  in 
the  end  have  more  than  once  been  mobilized  on  fields  of 
battle  and  filled  senates  and  parliaments  with  their 
clamour.  They  testify  to  many  things,  but  they  testify  to 
this  above  all :  that  history  is  a  spiritual  process  and  we 
shall  never  understand  its  most  massive  movements  until 
we  have  understood  its  potencies  of  silent,  hidden  spiri- 
tual travail. 

It  only  remains  to  be  said  that  in  the  preparation  of 
these  studies  the  author  has  gone  as  much  as  possible  to 
the  sources  themselves.  More  than  most  other  books, 
books  of  confession  supply  to  those  who  study  them  all 
the  needed  material.  But  beside  that,  the  author  has 
availed  himself  of  many  sources  of  knowledge  and  com- 
ment, too  many,  indeed,  to  try  to  list  them  here. 
They  are  all  accessible  and  many  of  them  very  simple. 
As  far  as  possible  he  has  sought  to  give  credit  in  the 
course  of  the  book  itself;  if  he  has  failed  in  any  instance 
so  to  do  it  is  an  oversight  which  is  here  acknowledged 
and  apologized  for.  And  if  those  who  happen  to  read 
this  book  find  in  it  more  than  once  this  or  that  which 
they  have  seen  before,  they  may  be  comfortably  persuaded 
that  the  author  has  seen  it  too  and  that  they  are  simply 
meeting  old  friends  to  whom  generally  now  the  author 
gladly  acknowledges  his    obligation.     He  is  in  debt  to 


20  INTRODUCTION 

Professor  John  E.  Goodrich,  of  the  University  of  Vermont, 
who  has  read  the  proofs,  to  the  Reverend  Charles  A. 
Dinsmore  for  the  partial  suggestion  of  a  title,  and  if  his 
good  friend  John  Hutton  of  Glasgow  should  ever  see  this 
introduction  he  will  know  that  the  author  gladly  con- 
fesses his  priority  in  similar  studies,  even  though  by  a 
happy  coincidence  these  essays  had  already  taken  form 
before  the  author  saw  Mr.  Hutton's  fine  and  kindling 
volume :  *'  Pilgrims  in  the  Region  of  Faith." 


I 

The  Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius 

ST.  PAUL  and  Marcus  Aurelius  are  divided,  as 
years  go,  by  something  like  the  space  of  a  cen- 
tury, but  in  their  essential  temper  the  two  men  are 
separated  by  all  that  separates  Stoicism  and  Christianity. 
Directly  one  has  said  this  it  has  to  be  qualified,  for  there 
are  indeed  similarities  between  the  teaching  of  St.  Paul 
and  the  teaching  of  the  Stoics  so  striking  as  to  have  led 
many  to  believe  that  there  must  have  been  commerce 
between  Seneca  and  Saul  of  Tarsus.  The  frontiers  of 
Christianity  and  Stoicism  meet  as  the  frontiers  of  all  fine 
and  noble  ways  of  thinking  meet,  but  their  capital  cities 
are  far,  far  apart. 

Any  consideration  of  the  "  Meditations  "  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  demands,  at  least,  some  consideration  of  their 
governing  philosophy,  that  is  of  Stoicism.  Stoicism  is  sim- 
ple enough  if  you  stand  far  enough  from  it.  The  name 
itself  has  a  well  defined  meaning,  suggests  directly  certain 
attitudes  towards  life  about  which  there  is  no  debate.  It 
is  by  no  means  so  simple  when  seen  close  by.  Its  gov- 
erning conceptions  are  vague  and  not  always  consistent, 
its  roads  take  unexpected  turnings  through  a  hill  country 
much  overlaid  with  clouds.  It  is  a  philosophy  trans- 
formed into  moral  idealism ;  moral  idealism  exalted  to 
the  levels  of  religion  itself.  In  the  main  Stoicism  as  a 
philosophy  is  the  contribution  of  Greek  genius  to  the 
interpretation  and  conduct  of  life,  though  there  are  those 

21 


22        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

who  think  that  the  founder  of  the  Stoic  School  was  himself 
of  Phoenician  descent ;  that  Stoicism  reflects  the  Semitic 
inheritances  of  its  founder ;  and  that  we  have  in  it  the 
mingling  of  the  Greek  and  Semitic  temperaments.  This 
may  well  be  so  and  its  being  so  will  explain  many  things. 
Born  in  the  East  and  cradled  in  the  colonnades  of 
Athens,  it  rooted  itself  deeply  in  the  hfe  of  the  Roman 
empire,  was  taught  in  the  palaces  of  Nero,  found  rare 
expression  in  the  life  of  a  scarred  and  crippled  slave,  and 
prompted  an  emperor,  in  lonely  meditations  and  self-ex- 
amination, to  expressions  of  its  essential  spirit  which 
have  made  his  interpretations  of  it  deathless. 

It  began  as  a  philosophy,  taught  by  Zeno  and  named 
as  it  is  because  he  taught  it  hard  by  the  market-place  of 
Athens  in  a  glorious  porch  whose  columned  cloisters  the 
genius  of  Athenian  artists  had  adorned  with  frescoes  of 
Homeric  battles  and  Athenian  victories.  It  is  not  easy 
to  put  the  substance  of  that  ancient  teaching  into  a 
paragraph  ;  the  very  contradictory  qualities  of  it  make 
the  clear  statement  of  it  difficult.  It  has  the  mingled 
strength  and  weakness  of  all  the  Greek  interpretations  of 
life  and  the  world ;  interpretations  now  supremely  vera- 
cious in  their  penetrating  vision,  now  strangely  childlike 
and  inadequate  in  their  speculations,  yet  always  redeem- 
ing their  fallacies  by  their  very  scope,  audacity  and 
deathless  insight.  Had  the  Greek  been  all  sage  or  all 
child  he  would  have  been  easier  of  comprehension  ;  his 
subtle  fusion  of  sage  and  child  is  the  thing  which  baffles 
us. 

As  taught  by  its  founders,  Stoicism  was  an  interpreta- 
tion of  life  and  the  world  in  terms  of  matter  and  of  force. 
Those  ancient  worthies  distinguished  clearly  enough  be- 
tween matter  and  force  in  their  operation,  but  identified 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     23 

them  in  their  essential  nature.  Force  was  a  finer  kind  of 
matter,  reason  a  finer  kind  of  force,  and  personahty  but 
the  expression  of  the  indvveUing  reason.  All  was,  there- 
fore, in  the  thought  of  the  Greek  a  seamless  robe.  The 
world  of  Zeno  and  the  world  of  Dante  do  not  greatly 
differ  (in  their  physical  characteristics,  that  is;  otherwise 
they  are  poles  apart).  The  Stoic's  world  was  earth,  air, 
fire  and  water,  each  in  its  concentric  sphere.  It  began 
in  a  primary  unity,  some  mother  stuff,  out  of  whose 
travail  issued  "  force  and  matter,  soul  and  body,  as  well  as 
the  variety  and  multiplicity  of  individual  things."  In  his 
more  daring  moments  the  Stoic  was  quite  convinced  that 
this  cosmic  travail  would  repeat  itself  again  and  again, 
and  that  an  aeon- weary  world  would  more  than  once  re- 
turn to  its  golden  morning-time,  but  he  was  never  quite 
sure  that  in  such  rebirth  it  was  committed  to  anything 
more  than  the  repetition  of  experiences,  in  the  bearing 
of  which  it  had  already  grown  old.  Each  cycle  would, 
at  the  best,  but  repeat  what  earlier  cycles  had  known  and 
borne.  Nor  was  he  ever  quite  sure  of  God's  place  in  all 
this.  Sometimes  God  is  the  living  activity  of  the  whole. 
"  God,  nature.  Reason,  world-soul,  Germinal  Reason,  Law, 
Providence,  necessity,  destiny  are  but  expressions  of  the 
different  relations  in  which  the  one  universe,  the  sum  and 
whole  of  existence,  stands  to  particular  things  and  events 
within  it."  Sometimes  He  is  a  "  spiritual  power  work- 
ing upon  and  in  the  material  universe."  This  is  only  to 
say  that  Stoicism  shared  those  natural  doubts  and  hesita- 
tions common  to  us  all.  It  would  be  easy,  even  in  the 
devotional  literature  of  our  own  time,  to  find  a  like  loose- 
ness in  the  use  of  terms  which  carry  the  aspirations  and 
idealizations  of  our  souls  and  are  indeed  fit  vehicles 
for  that  supreme  and  momentous  task  because  we  can 


24       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

and  must  use  them  in  these  vaster,  freer  ways.  They 
carry  what  we  put  into  them.  In  our  times  of  noble 
faith  and  clear  insight  they  expand  to  meet  our  spiritual 
passion ;  in  our  times  of  doubt  they  contract  themselves 
to  the  narrower  measure  of  our  courage  and  insight. 
They  have  the  uncertainty  of  the  ocean's  shore,  they 
answer  to  the  ebbing  and  flowing  tides  of  our  spirit.  All 
pantheistic  systems  are  especially  fluid  and  take  their  range 
and  colour  from  the  faith  and  temper  of  those  who  pro- 
fess them.  A  clearer  recognition  of  all  this  would  have 
saved  the  modern  interpreters  of  Stoicism — many  of  whom, 
it  must  be  confessed,  labour  sadly  in  their  treatment  of 
their  theme — from  the  perplexity  in  which  they  find 
themselves.  Stoicism  is,  in  a  sentence,  in  its  definitions 
of  God  most  largely  a  Pantheism,  vague  and  doubt- 
ful in  its  earlier  developments,  but  growing  in  its  clear 
sense  of  God  as  in  and  still  above  His  world,  with  the 
growing  spiritual  quahty  of  those  who  profess  it.  Yet 
even  Marcus  Aurelius  is  no  more  consistently  con- 
stant in  his  faith  than  troubled,  burdened  men  to-day, 
and  his  changing  tempers  are  reflected  in  his  "  Medita- 
tions." 

Uncertain  and  fluid  as  is  the  Stoic's  thought  of  God,  it 
was  none  the  less  never  divorced  in  any  of  its  nobler  ex- 
pressions from  a  really  great  and  brooding  sense  of  the 
Unseen  and  Eternal.  It  saturates  the  baffling  orders  of 
this  world  with  the  very  presence  of  the  Divine  and  rises 
in  its  finer  expressions  to  a  sincere  devotion  to  a  God  at 
once  within  and  beyond  His  worshippers,  and  within  and 
beyond  the  world  which  they  inhabited.  Cleanthes's 
hymn  is  the  classic  expression  of  the  finer  reverences 
and  insights  of  Stoicism,  and  Cleanthes  has  found  an 
echo  in  a  poem  of  Emily  Bronte  which  breathes  the  very 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    25 

essence  of  what  has  been,  and  is,  best  and  most  devout 
in  the  Stoic  faith. 

O  God,  within  my  breast, 

Almighty,  ever-present  Deity  ! 
Life,  that  in  me  has  rest, 

As  I — undying  life — have  power  in  Thee. 

With  wide-embracing  love 

Thy  spirit  animates  eternal  years, 
Pervades  and  broods  above, 

Changes,  sustains,  dissolves,  creates,  and  rears. 

Though  earth  and  man  were  gone. 
And  suns  and  universes  ceased  to  be, 

And  Thou  wert  left  alone. 

Every  existence  would  exist  in  Thee. 

There  is  not  room  for  Death, 

No  atom  that  his  might  could  render  void ; 
Thou — Thou  art  Being,  Breath, 

And  what  Thou  art  may  never  be  destroyed.* 

Just  as  Stoicism,  to  save  itself  from  a  numbing  Panthe- 
ism, was  finally  compelled  in  its  reverences  and  adorations 
to  distinguish  between  God  and  the  world,  so  it  was  com- 
pelled to  distinguish  between  the  soul  and  the  body  which 
it  inhabits  and  to  assign  creative  priority  to  the  soul.  All 
that  is  most  distinctive  in  the  moral  idealism  of  this  great 
school  is  really  rooted  here.  "  From  the  unity  of  soul  it 
follows  that  all  psychical  processes, — sensation,  assent, 
impulse, — proceed  from  reason,  the  ruling  part;  that  is 
to  say,  there  is  no  strife  or  division :  the  one  rational 
soul  alone  has  sensations,  assents  to  judgments,  is  im- 
pelled towards  objects  of  desire,  just  as  much  as  it  thinks 
or  reasons."  ^ 

All  this  is  miserably  technical,  but  what  it  means  is 

1  Hicks,  "Stoic  and  Epicurean,"  pp.  14 -17. 

'  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  Vol.  XXII,  p.  565. 


26        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

that  the  soul  is  the  creative  and  the  determining  power 
in  hfe,  and  reason  the  determining  and  controlling  power 
of  the  soul.  "  Translated  into  simple,  every-day  terms," 
says  President  Hyde,  "  this  doctrine  in  its  application  to 
the  personal  life  means  that  the  value  of  any  external  fact 
or  possession  or  experience  depends  on  the  way  in  which 
we  take  it."  "  Stoicism  is  fundamentally  this  psycho- 
logical doctrine  of  apperception,  carried  over  and  applied 
in  the  field  of  the  personal  life, — the  doctrine,  namely, 
that  no  external  thing  alone  can  affect  for  good  or  evil, 
until  we  have  woven  it  into  the  texture  of  our  mental  life, 
painted  it  with  the  colour  of  our  dominant  mood  and 
temper,  and  stamped  it  with  the  approval  of  our  will."  * 

Here  then  is  the  first  great  line  of  approach  to  the 
moral  idealism  of  the  Stoic.  Since  reason  is  the  power 
which  shapes  each  man's  world,  his  world  is  not  so  much 
a  gift  as  a  creation  ;  his  real  world  is  not  forced  upon 
him;  he  may  give  it  what  shape  or  colour  he  will.  Its 
circumstances  and  incidents  are  not  indeed  wholly  negli- 
gible, but  they  are  never  for  a  moment  dominant  or  final ; 
they  are  merely  the  stuff  upon  which  reason  may  dwell, 
to  which  she  may  issue  her  mandates  and  to  which  she 
may  give  the  colour  and  constitution  of  her  own  com- 
manding conceptions.  It  goes  without  saying  that  great 
implications  lie  wrapped  up  in  such  an  attitude  as  this. 
Men  who  so  conceive  and  approach  life  will,  at  their 
best,  be  masterful,  and  will  be  always  nobly  independent 
of  the  mutations  of  fortune.  They  will  not  be  unduly 
cast  down  by  sorrow  or  unduly  exalted  by  happiness  or 
favour.  They  will  reign  without  let  or  hindrance  in  the 
empire  of  their  own  souls  and,  if  that  empire  be  well  ad- 
ministered, they  will  be  nobly  content.     They  will  have 

*  Hyde, ««  The  Five  Great  Philosophies  of  Life,"  pp.  66,  70. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     27 

strongholds  into  which  retreating  nothing  can  assail  them, 
and  great  central  serenities  which  will  never  be  overcast. 
They  will  not,  of  course,  come  without  sore  struggle  to 
such  a  state  as  this,  nor,  indeed,  will  many  men  ever  be 
able  wholly  to  attain  unto  it.  Only  the  exceptionally 
strong  are  ever  able  to  deal  thus  with  the  world  of  for- 
tune and  experience.  Most  of- us  will  be  always  feeling 
that  what  happens  to  us  really  affects  our  joy  and  well- 
being,  that  we  are  not  so  independent  of  the  All  of  which 
we  are  a  part  as  to  look  into  its  face  with  indifference, 
dismiss  its  hostihties  with  scorn,  or  bear  its  crosses  with 
a  song. 

The  second  line  of  approach  to  this  moral  idealism  of 
the  Stoic  leads  us  into  another  country.  As  the  Stoic 
brooded  upon  his  world,  he  found  in  the  world  without  a 
reason  which  answered  to  his  own.  Nature  seemed  to 
him  only  another  way  of  spelling  reason  and  reason  an- 
other way  of  spelling  nature.  True  enough,  this  com- 
mitted him  to  a  difficult  enterprise  in  which  he  was  not 
always  successful ;  the  enterprise,  that  is,  of  interpreting 
all  the  facts  of  this  encompassing  world  in  terms  of  sov- 
ereign and  constant  reason.  If  nature  and  reason  are 
interchangeable  terms,  then  pain,  sorrow,  defeat,  weari- 
ness, unhappincss,  and  all  the  perplexities  and  challenges 
of  a  troubled  and  difficult  order  must  be  explicable  in 
terms  of  reason ;  everything,  that  is,  must  be  right : — 
light  and  shadow,  life  and  death.  There  is  no  room  here 
to  indicate  how  zealously  the  Stoic  sought  to  justify  this 
conclusion  or  how  far  afield  such  an  endeavour  sometimes 
led  him.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  few  nobler  attempts  to 
justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men  have  ever  been  made. 
"  They  held  that  in  this  world,  the  common  habitation  of 
all  living  things,  everything  had  been  ordained  by  perfect 


28        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

reason  for  the  general  good ;  everything,  therefore,  hap- 
pens in  the  best  way  possible."  ^  They  were  not  indeed 
in  a  position  to  prove  such  a  thesis ;  it  cannot  be  proved 
except  in  the  Hght  which  shines  from  the  Cross.  It  is 
only  the  profound  persuasion  that  we  are  living  unfin- 
ished lives  in  an  unfinished  world,  the  consummations  of 
which  are  to  be  found  in  the  perfection  of  character  ; 
that  God  shares  with  us  the  pain  of  so  costly  an  en- 
deavour, bears  in  His  own  atoning  strength  the  burden 
of  consequences  which  otherwise  would  overwhelm  us 
and  offers,  in  the  completions  of  immortality,  recom- 
penses and  readjustments  without  which  the  truest  insight 
finds  itself  halted  and  perplexed  ;  it  is  only  such  persua- 
sions, I  say,  which  make  it  possible  for  faith,  laying  hold 
of  all  the  tangled  web  of  life,  to  find  in  every  strand  the 
interwoven  love  of  God.  None  the  less  this  attempt  to 
find  good  in  everything,  to  which  the  Stoic  is  always  re- 
turning, gives  a  nobility  to  the  larger  movements  of  his 
thought  and  stirs  us  as  winds  blowing  down  from  austere 
mountain  heights. 

Had  Stoicism  been  severely  logical  it  would  have  shut 
itself  up  in  a  circle.  The  Stoic  escaped  that  unhappy 
fate,  just  as  we  are  always  escaping  the  consequences  of 
our  ingrowing  theories  about  life,  under  the  stress  of 
life  itself  He  set  out  by  professing  to  find  in  nature 
the  perfect  revelation  of  the  perfectly  reasonable ;  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  found  in  nature  a  great  deal  which 
was  unreasonable  and  acted  accordingly.  He  professed 
to  yield  implicit  obedience  to  the  compulsions  of  things 
as  they  are.  **  There  is  but  one  way  to  happiness  and 
freedom,  that  is  to  will  nothing  but  what  is  the  nature 
of  things,  nothing  that  will  not  be  realized  independ- 

*  Hicks,  "  Stoic  and  Epicurean,"  p.  4a. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    29 

ently  of  us.  In  this  way  success  is  insured  beforehand. 
Our  wishes  cannot  be  balked  or  disappointed.  Our  ra- 
tional freedom  is  a  wiUing  cooperation  with  destiny."  * 
In  the  actual  conduct  of  hfe  the  Stoic  was  strangely 
wanting  in  such  cosmic  docility.  He  met  the  stings  and 
arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,  not  with  an  eager  coopera- 
tion, but  with  a  haughty  indifference,  and  through  his 
other  principle — the  supremacy  of  the  soul — he  flung 
himself  free  of  the  constrictions  of  circumstances  and, 
instead  of  accepting  the  world  as  he  found  it,  he  made  it 
after  his  own  fashion.  In  his  endeavour  to  make  the 
best  of  the  world  he  made  it  a  better  world.  The  very 
necessity  to  which  he  was  pledged,  of  finding  in  the 
world  a  perfect  expression  of  reason,  made  him  more 
largely  an  idealist  than  he  would  ever  have  been  willing 
to  confess  himself.  As  he  sought  to  find  the  light  of 
reason  shining  across  all  its  broken,  shadowed  forms,  he 
was  following  a  gleam  whose  day-spring  was  not  in  the 
world,  but  in  his  own  soul.  So  he  came,  though  not  by 
the  roads  which  he  vainly  supposed  himself  to  follow,  to 
a  moral  idealism,  in  the  possession  of  which  our  com- 
mon humanity  has  been  enriched. 

He  found  two  worlds  before  him :  the  higher  and  the 
lower,  and  like  good,  brave  men  everywhere  and  always 
he  denied  the  lower  world  and  all  its  works.  He  dis- 
cerned two  men  within  him  ;  he  sought,  as  good  brave 
men  everywhere  and  always  have  sought,  the  triumph  of 
the  new  man.  Harmony,  he  said,  is  the  fruitful  mother 
of  peace  and  power,  rebellion  the  spring  of  all  pain  and 
discord,  but  he  found  that  harmony  can  only  be  won 
through  struggle  and  that,  though  the  spirit  protest  that 
peace  is  to  be  sought  in  surrender,  life  constrains  us  to  find 
*  Hicks,  "  Stoic  and  Epicurean,"  p.  77. 


30       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

peace  through  strife.  So  he  found  himself  committed 
to  a  warrior's  life  and  leading  an  embattled  existence, 
and  in  the  exigencies  of  that  embattled  existence  he  fell 
back  upon  his  own  inner  resources.  He  forgot "  that  there 
is  but  one  way  to  happiness  and  freedom ;  to  will  noth- 
ing but  what  is  in  the  nature  of  things."  He  denied  the 
supremacy  of  anything  except  the  disciplined  and  self-re- 
hant  soul ;  he  compelled  the  circumstances  of  life  to  suit 
themselves  to  his  vision,  retreat  before  his  dominant  pur- 
poses, and  be  weighed  in  his  balances.  In  his  loneliest 
and  most  austerely  self-sufficient  times  he  could  look 
without  trepidation  into  a  godless  sky  or  cry  in  the 
teeth  of  the  wind, 

"  O  Neptune,  you  may  save  me  if  you  will, 
You  may  sink  me  if  you  will. 
But  I  will  keep  my  rudder  true." 

There  is  a  strangely  modern  note  about  all  this.  The 
solutions  which  the  Stoic  offered  for  the  problem  of  sin 
are  much  upon  the  lips  of  many  of  our  contemporaries. 
The  effort  which  the  Stoic  made  to  justify  the  goodness 
of  all  that  is  has  been  often  repeated,  and  still  those  who 
seek  to  find  a  place  in  the  world  for  its  shadows  as  well 
as  its  lights,  its  stains  as  well  as  its  holinesses,  are  com- 
pelled, as  was  the  Stoic,  to  flee  the  consequences  of  their 
own  serene  optimism  and  battle,  as  for  their  lives,  against 
the  very  forces  which  they  justified  as  part  of  the  ex- 
pression of  the  goodness  and  the  love  of  God.  Life  is, 
after  all,  a  great  corrective,  an  universal  solvent  of  creeds 
and  speculations.  It  is  not  easy  to  find  a  reconciling 
unity  in  the  Stoic's  philosophy,  but  when  the  Stoic 
ceased  to  speculate  and  began  to  live,  when  he  ceased  to 
talk  about  universal  reason  and  began  to  love  and  follow 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     31 

God,  an  almost  unexpected  quality  of  spiritual  fidelity 
begins  to  express  itself.  His  "  high  aim  is  to  follow 
God  and  please  Him,  to  live  in  His  service  and  obey  His 
commands." 

"  Lead  me,  O  Zeus,  lead  thou  me,  Destiny, 
By  whatsoever  path  ye  have  ordained, 
I  will  not  flinch ;  but  if,  to  evil  prone. 
My  will  rebelled,  I  needs  must  follow  still."  * 

On  the  face  of  it  there  ought  to  be  radical  differences 
between  Stoicism  and  Platonism.  Plato  is  constantly 
telling  us  that  we  are  to  seek  a  city  which  hath  founda- 
tions whose  builder  and  maker  is  God.  He  commits 
us  to  a  great  and  kindling  search — the  search  for  the 
ideal ;  he  reminds  us  that  we  have  here  no  continuing 
city;  he  lifts  us  towards  the  eternal  in  search  of  the 
temporal.  The  philosophy  of  the  Stoics  pledged  them 
to  conformity  and  yet,  in  the  end,  they  themselves  be- 
came, if  not  soldiers  of  the  ideal,  at  least  supreme  and 
lonely  dissenters,  discovering  in  that  world,  which  log- 
ically they  ought  to  have  considered  the  supreme  reality, 
only  the  shadow  of  a  dream ;  the  baseless  fabric  of  a 
vision.  By  paradoxical  roads,  therefore,  the  Stoic's 
gospel  of  harmony  according  to  reason  became  the  gos- 
pel of  lonely  self-sufficiency.  These  are  the  qualities 
in  Stoicism  which  made  their  commanding  appeal  to 
the  Roman.  There  was  that  in  the  Roman  temperament 
which  welcomed  Stoicism  as  the  hilltops  welcome  the 
austere  light.  Indifferent  to  its  speculations,  careless  of 
its  contradictions,  they  accepted  and  made  incarnate  its 
ethical  consequences. 

Roman  Stoicism  is  permanently  identified  with  three 
great  names — Seneca,  Epictetus  and  Marcus  Aurehus. 
>  Hicks,  "  Stoic  and  Epicurean,"  p.  76. 


32        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Seneca  is  the  rhetorician,  the  courtier,  the  tutor  of  Nero, 
the  administrator  of  the  affairs  of  the  empire.  He  was 
wanting  in  moral  sohdity.  He  owed  to  his  talent  and 
suppleness  the  position  which  he  achieved.  Martha  has 
called  him  "  the  Philosophic  Director."  He  held  the 
place  in  that  old  Roman  order  which  the  courtiers  of  the 
Church  held  in  the  ancient  regime.  He  counsels  simplic- 
ity to  men  who  are  weary  of  the  distractions  of  a  stained 
and  voluptuous  age ;  austerity  to  men  who,  clothed  in 
soft  raiment,  sought  distractions  from  an  excess  of  ease ; 
and  moderation  to  those  who  were  beginning  to  turn  in 
weariness  from  a  world  whose  fruits  were  but  dust  and 
ashes  on  their  Hps.  He  met  them  all  in  their  reactions 
with  counsels  which,  if  they  are  not  free  from  the  suspi- 
cion of  the  theatrical,  were  none  the  less  wise  and  whole- 
some, offering  to  a  satiated  society  occupations  and  inter- 
ests unspeakably  nobler  than  those  from  which  they 
turned.  All  this  while  Jesus  walked  with  His  disciples 
through  pleasant  Galilean  ways,  filled  the  streets  of  Ori- 
ental towns  with  the  fragrance  of  His  ministration,  faced 
the  Roman  procurator  in  his  judgment  hall,  and  found 
His  exaltation  in  the  Cross  ;  all  this  while  the  Apostolic 
Church  took  shape  and  form  ;  all  this  while  Saul  of  Tar- 
sus stood  by  and  consented  to  the  death  of  Stephen,  or, 
blinded  by  the  very  excess  of  light,  found  his  second 
birth  in  the  Syrian  desert. 

P>pictetus  was  the  slave  of  Epaphroditus,  secretary  to 
Nero,  in  whose  courts  without  doubt  Seneca  must  have 
seen  "  a  little  blind  Phrygian  boy  deformed  and  mean- 
looking,  whose  face,  if  it  were""  any  index  to  the  mind 
within,  must  even  from  childhood  have  worn  a  serene 
and  patient  look."  Epictetus,  hard  beset  by  fortune  but 
dauntless  in  soul,  lifted  Stoicism  to  rare  altitudes.     For 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     33 

him  it  was  a  consolation  in  the  face  of  difficult  and 
searching  conditions  ;  a  mental  and  spiritual  emancipation 
more  accessible  and  efficacious  than  any  manumission  of 
the  Roman  law.  He  made  himself  free  by  the  assertion 
of  the  essential  liberty  of  a  soul  unsubjugated  by  folly, 
passion  or  fear.  "  Freedom  and  slavery  are  but  names 
respectively  of  virtue  and  vice,  and  both  of  them  de- 
pend upon  the  will,  but  neither  of  them  have  anything  to 
do  with  those  things  in  which  the  will  has  no  share,  for 
no  one  is  a  slave  whose  will  is  free."  From  such  a  point 
of  departure  as  this,  Epictetus  journeyed  far  and  nobly. 
He  had  a  serene  confidence  in  the  justice  of  the  order  to 
which  he  belonged  and  refused  to  test  the  purposes  of 
God  by  the  accidents  of  birth  or  the  turns  of  fortune. 
*•  Know  you  not,"  he  said,  "  what  an  atom  you  are  com- 
pared with  the  whole,  and  what  else  can  I  do  who  am  a 
lame  old  man  except  sing  praises  to  God."  He  learned 
long  before  Lovelace  that 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  an  hermitage." 

Such  a  temper  as  this  is  one  of  the  great  human 
qualities  and  the  call  for  it  did  not  pass  with  Epictetus. 
We  are  needing  to  be  taught  again  and  again  how 
powerless  that  is  to  harm  us  to  which  we  do  not 
consent ;  in  what  inner  liberties  which  may  not  be 
denied  us  our  souls  may  really  move ;  how  hearten- 
ing it  is  to  interpret  our  own  fortunes  in  terms  of  the 
justice  of  God ;  and  what  serene  and  holy  compen- 
sations wait  upon  men  who,  taking  humility  for  a  guide 
and  contentment  for  a  comrade,  seek  the  fellowship 
of  the  true,  the  beautiful  and  the  good.     It  is  by  such 


34        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

masters  as  these  that  Marcus  Aurelius  was  taught.  The 
finer  part  of  Stoicism  had  been  wrought  into  the  ideahsm 
of  the  better  part  of  the  Roman  people.  The  life  of 
Marcus  Aurelius  was,  therefore,  coloured  by  conceptions 
and  interpretations  drawn  from  a  multitude  of  sources, 
and  representing  in  themselves  the  very  best  that  the 
pagan  world  was  able  to  compass.  It  is  one  of  the  af- 
fecting things  in  the  history  of  the  human  spirit  that,  just 
before  the  darkness  finally  fell  on  the  old  pagan  order,  its 
sky  began  to  clear  and  the  rays  of  its  setting  sun  shone  with 
such  m.oving  clarity  of  light  upon  men  and  institutions 
even  then  beginning  to  rock  with  the  birth  of  the  rising 
storm.  For  it  is  now  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  the  his- 
tory of  Roman  morals  and  institutions  that  a  real  ethical 
revival  preceded  the  period  of  the  Antonines.  It  is  an 
open  question  whether  the  corruption  of  the  empire  was 
ever  so  wide-spread,  so  deep-seated,  so  wholly  unrelieved 
by  any  gleam  of  better  things  as  the  Roman  satirists  have 
made  out.  Something  surely  has  to  be  allowed  for  the 
temper  in  which  they  wrote,  the  ends  to  which  they  ad- 
dressed themselves  ;  and  it  is  more  than  likely  that  even 
in  the  times  of  sorest  moral  decadence  there  were  regions 
of  moral  integrity,  multitudes  of  men  and  women  who, 
true  to  what  gods  they  knew,  ordered  their  lives  in  obe- 
dient conformity  to  the  great  saving  moralities.  At  any 
rate  it  is  beyond  debate  that  the  beginning  of  the  second 
century  saw  a  distinct  moral  amendment.  The  moral  ex- 
cesses of  the  empire  were  always  closely  connected  with 
vicious  and  dissolute  imperial  courts  and  the  extrava- 
gances of  the  newly  rich.  A  finer  and  simpler  court  hfe 
cleared  the  air  in  the  palaces  of  the  Csesars,  and  the  rich 
themselves  came  through  the  generations  to  be  taught 
the  folly  of  their  extravagances,  the  weariness  of  their 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     35 

worse   than   idle   restlessness,  and  the  bitter  fruition  of 
their  excesses. 

A  noble  religiousness,  moreover,  began  to  mark  the 
finer  aspects  of  the  Roman  life.  The  City  of  the  Seven 
Hills  had  offered  a  strange  and  uncritical  hospitality  to 
the  cults  of  the  East,  many  of  them  mystical,  most  of 
them  fevered,  and  too  many  of  them  foul ;  but  along  with 
all  this  had  gone  a  quickening  of  the  real  spirit  of  devo- 
tion. The  cold  and  official  Roman  faith  began  here  and 
there  to  glow  with  an  inner  quality,  and  a  hungering  and 
thirsting  after  better  things  became  undeniably  manifest. 
The  more  difficult  and  hopeless  problem  of  the  empire 
of  the  second  and  third  centuries  was  not  its  moral 
delinquency,  but  its  economic  situation.  Rome  finally 
made  shipwreck  through  economic  maladjustment,  the 
extinction  of  the  small  landholding  class,  the  massing 
of  a  pauperized  population  in  the  cities,  the  suprem- 
acy of  the  slave  in  almost  all  industrial  concerns, 
and  the  consequent  extinction  of  an  intelligent  and  ef- 
fective citizenship.  Without  doubt  the  genesis  of  this 
economic  ruin  must  be  sought,  as  the  genesis  of  eco- 
nomic maladjustment  must  always  be  sought,  in  moral 
and  spiritual  conditions,  but  the  empire  did  however 
begin  to  mend  its  morals  when  it  was  too  late.  Even 
so  soon  as  the  Antonines,  the  redemption  of  the  Ro- 
man empire  demanded  almost  impossible  conditions ; — 
an  economic  insight  which  the  Roman  did  not  possess, 
profound  and  far-reaching  social  readjustments  to  which 
he  was  not  equal,  quiet  decades  free  from  the  alarms  and 
excursions  of  border  warfare  which  the  menace  of  alien 
and  hostile  people  drawn  around  the  northern  and  east- 
ern frontiers  of  the  empire  would  not  allow  him,  and  a 
cleansing  moral  passion  drawn  from  deeper  sources  than 


36        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

those  to  which  he  pressed,  for  cooling,  his  fevered  lips. 
Even  Christianity  itself,  in  its  utter  detachment  from  all 
the  secular  order,  did  but  the  more  deeply  wound  a 
State  already  wounded  to  the  heart. 

Marcus  Aurelius,  therefore,  came  to  the  headship  of 
an  empire  which  had  already  within  it  the  germs  of  its 
own  dissolution.  Whether  he  and  his  followers  sensed 
this  at  all  clearly  I  do  not  know.  But  one  reads  between 
the  lines  of  the  *'  Meditations  "  a  deep  sadness,  a  profound 
hopelessness,  as  if  the  judgments  of  God  were  already 
registered  against  the  order  which  he  was  under  bonds  to 
continue  and  defend,  and  as  if  in  some  vague  and  troubled 
way  he  knew  it. 

He  was  born  121  years  after  Christ.  He  was  fortu- 
nate or  unfortunate  in  having  changed  his  name  often 
enough  to  bother  his  biographers.  His  father  was 
Annius  Verus,  a  Roman  official  of  high  descent.  His 
mother,  Domitia  Calvilla,  was  "  also  of  consular  and 
kingly  race."  The  boy's  father  died  when  he  was 
still  a  boy.  He  seems  then  to  have  been  nurtured  by 
his  grandfather,  who  taught  him  to  think  kindly  of 
his  father  and  brought  him  up  in  a  wholesome  sim- 
plicity. He  begins  his  "  Meditations  "  with  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  debt  to  those  who  nurtured  him.  It 
has  been  ungraciously  intimated  that  he  catalogues 
their  virtues  only  to  draw  attention  to  his  own, 
but  such  a  temper  is  so  far  removed  from  the  whole 
spirit  and  attitude  of  the  man  that  to  impute  it  to  him 
seems  not  only  unnecessary  but  unjust.  "  Of  my  grand- 
father Verus  I  have  learned  to  be  gentle  and  meek,  and 
to  refrain  from  all  anger  and  passion.  From  the  fame 
and  memory  of  him  that  begot  me  I  have  learned  both 
shamefastness  and  manlike  behaviour.     Of  my  mother  I 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     37 

have  learned  to  be  religious,  and  bountiful ;  and  to  for- 
bear, not  only  to  do,  but  to  intend,  any  evil ;  to  content 
myself  with  a  spare  diet,  and  to  fly  all  such  excess  as  is 
incidental  to  great  wealth.  Of  my  great-grandfather, 
both  to  frequent  public  schools  and  auditories,  and  to  get 
me  good  and  able  teachers  at  home ;  and  that  I  ought 
not  to  think  much  if,  upon  such  occasions,  I  were  at  ex- 
cessive charges."  ^ 

He  has  a  clear  recollection  of  his  father  though  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  say  how  much  of  the  fine  picture 
which  he  draws  of  his  father  is  due  to  his  own  observa- 
tion and  memory,  how  much  to  the  reminiscences 
of  his  grandfather  ;  the  qualities  which  he  notes  in  his 
father  are  not  such  as  a  boy  would  commonly  have 
noted.  His  picture  of  his  father,  probably  a  composite 
picture,  is  worth  dweUing  upon.  It  shows  us  the  Roman 
character  at  its  best — strong,  patient,  self-contained,  self- 
sufficient,  observant,  accurate,  painstaking,  with  great  gifts 
for  government,  domestic  administration,  and  the  ordering 
of  details.  Allow  as  you  will  for  the  light  in  which  the 
lonely  soldier  saw  his  youth,  his  people,  his  tutors,  and 
his  friends, — the  society  which  he  pictures  in  the  begin- 
ning of  his  "  Meditations  "  is  a  society  which  would  be  noble 
in  any  period  and  finely  effective  in  any  people.  "  From 
the  gods,"  he  says  as  he  makes  the  list  of  the  blessings  of 
his  boyhood,  "  I  received  that  I  had  good  grandfathers, 
and  parents,  a  good  sister,  good  masters,  good  domestics, 
loving  kinsmen,  almost  all  that  I  have;  and  that  I  never 
through  haste  and  rashness  transgressed  against  any  of 
them,  notwithstanding  that  my  disposition  was  such,  as 
that  such  a  thing  (if  occasion  had  been)  might  very  well 

*  Book  I :  i.  Unless  otherwise  noted  the  citations  are  from  Casaubon's 
translation.     E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  1900. 


38        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

have  been  committed  by  me,  but  that  it  was  the  mercy 
of  the  gods  to  prevent  such  a  concurring  of  matters  and 
occasions,  as  might  make  me  to  incur  this  blame.  That  I 
preserved  the  flower  of  my  youth.  That  I  took  not  upon 
me  to  be  a  man  before  my  time,  but  rather  put  it  off  longer 
than  I  needed.  That  I  have  had  such  a  brother,  who  by 
his  own  example  might  stir  me  up  to  think  of  myself;  and 
by  his  respect  and  love,  delight  and  please  me.  That  I 
was  no  great  proficient  in  the  study  of  rhetoric  and  poetry, 
and  of  other  faculties,  which  perchance  I  might  have 
dwelt  upon,  if  I  had  found  myself  to  go  on  in  them  with 
success.  That  I  have  had  occasion  often  and  effectually 
to  consider  and  meditate  with  myself,  concerning  that 
life  which  is  according  to  nature,  what  the  nature  and 
manner  of  it  is :  so  that  as  for  the  gods  and  such  sugges- 
tions, helps  and  inspirations,  as  might  be  expected  from 
them,  nothing  did  hinder,  but  that  I  might  have  begun 
long  before  to  live  according  to  nature.  That  my  body 
in  such  a  life  hath  been  able  to  hold  out  so  long.  That 
I  never  had  to  do  with  Benedicta  and  Theodotus,  yea  and 
afterwards  when  I  fell  into  some  fits  of  love,  I  was  soon 
cured.  That  having  been  often  displeased  with  Rusticus, 
I  never  did  him  anything  for  which  afterwards  I  had 
occasion  to  repent.  That  it  being  so  that  my  mother 
was  to  die  young,  yet  she  lived  with  me  all  her  latter 
years.  That  as  often  as  I  had  a  purpose  to  help  and 
succour  any  that  either  were  poor,  or  fallen  into  some 
present  necessity,  I  never  was  answered  by  my  officers 
that  there  was  not  ready  money  enough  to  do  it ;  and 
that  I  myself  never  had  occasion  to  require  the  like 
succour  from  any  other.  That  I  have  such  a  wife,  so 
obedient,  so  loving,  so  ingenuous.  That  I  had  choice  of 
fit  and  able  men,  to  whom  I  might  commit  the  bringing 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     39 

up  of  my  children.  That  by  dreams  I  have  received  help, 
as  for  other  things,  so  in  particular,  how  I  might  stay  my 
casting  of  blood,  and  cure  my  dizziness,  as  that  also  that 
happened  to  thee  in  Cajeta,  as  unto  Chryses  when  he 
prayed  by  the  seashore.  And  when  I  did  first  apply 
myself  to  philosophy,  that  I  did  not  fall  into  the  hands  of 
some  sophists,  or  spent  my  time  either  in  reading  the 
manifold  volumes  of  ordinary  philosophers,  nor  in  practic- 
ing myself  in  the  solution  of  arguments  and  fallacies,  nor 
dwelt  upon  the  studies  of  the  meteors,  and  other  natural 
curiosities.  All  these  things  without  the  assistance  of  the 
gods,  and  fortune,  could  not  have  been." ' 

We  are  fortunate  in  having  still  kept  for  us  certain 
letters  which  passed  between  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Corne- 
lius Fronto,  Fronto  having  been  the  tutor  and  the  com- 
rade of  Aurelius.  The  boy's  letters  are  a  boy's  letters, 
ingenuous,  affectionate  and  revealing.  He  loved  his  tutor 
with  an  affection  which  boys  have  not  always  displayed 
for  their  tutors.  He  strained  the  Greek  language  in 
his  appreciation  of  Fronto's  eloquence  and  skill  as  a 
rhetorician,  and  his  letters  lead  us  to  wonder  whether  as 
a  boy  he  had  that  scorn  for  rhetoric  which  he  professes 
as  a  man.  One  of  the  letters  gives  us  alluring  and 
homely  visions  of  the  boy's  life,  and  the  sheer  humanity 
of  it  binds  the  ages  and  the  races  together.  Here  is  the 
record  of  one  day  in  that  far-off  boyhood.  Follows  it 
a  picture  of  his  home  life  which  gives  us  good  rea- 
son for  believing  that  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  is  quite 
right  when,  in  one  of  his  own  studies  of  a  Roman 
household,  he  ventures  the  opinion  that  "  all  good 
families  are  pretty  much  the  same  everywhere  and  al- 
ways." 

*  Book  I :  xiv. 


40        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

«'  My  dearest  Master, — I  am  well.  To-day  I  studied  from 
the  ninth  hour  of  the  night  to  the  second  hour  of  the 
day,  after  taking  food.  I  then  put  on  my  slippers,  and 
from  the  second  to  the  third  hour  had  a  most  enjoyable 
walk  up  and  down  before  my  chamber.  Then  booted 
and  cloaked — for  so  we  were  commanded  to  appear — I 
went  to  wait  upon  my  Lord  the  emperor.  We  went 
a-hunting,  did  doughty  deeds,  heard  a  rumour  that  boars 
had  been  caught,  but  there  was  nothing  to  see.  How- 
ever, we  climbed  a  pretty  steep  hill,  and  in  the  afternoon 
returned  home.  I  went  straight  to  my  books.  Off  with 
the  boots,  down  with  the  cloak  ;  I  spent  a  couple  of  hours 
in  bed.  I  read  Cato's  speech  on  the  Property  of  Pulchra, 
and  another  in  which  he  impeaches  a  tribune.  Ho,  ho  ! 
I  hear  you  cry  to  your  man,  Off  with  you  as  fast  as  you 
can,  and  bring  me  these  speeches  from  the  library  of 
Apollo.  No  use  to  send :  I  have  those  books  with  me 
too.  You  must  get  round  the  Tiberian  librarian  ;  you 
will  have  to  spend  something  on  the  matter ;  and  when  I 
return  to  town,  I  shall  expect  to  go  shares  with  him. 
Well,  after  reading  these  speeches  I  wrote  a  wretched 
trifle,  destined  for  drowning  or  burning.  No,  indeed  my 
attempt  at  writing  did  not  come  off  at  all  to-day ;  the 
composition  of  a  hunter  or  a  vintager,  whose  shouts  are 
echoing  through  my  chamber,  hateful  and  wearisome  as 
the  law-courts.  What  have  I  said  ?  Yes,  it  was  rightly 
said,  for  my  master  is  an  orator.  I  think  I  have  caught 
cold,  whether  from  walking  in  slippers  or  from  writing 
badly,  I  do  not  know.  I  am  always  annoyed  with  phlegm, 
but  to-day  I  seem  to  snivel  more  than  usual.  Well,  I 
will  pour  oil  on  my  head  and  go  off  to  sleep.  I  don't 
mean  to  put  one  drop  in  my  lamp  to-day,  so  weary  am 
I  from  riding  and  sneezing.     Farewell,  dearest  and  most 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    41 

beloved   master,  whom  I   miss,  I   may  say,   more  than 
Rome  itself." 

"  My  beloved  Master, — I  am  well.  I  slept  a  httle  more 
than  usual  for  my  slight  cold,  which  seems  to  be  well 
again.  So  I  spent  the  time  from  the  eleventh  hour  of 
the  night  to  the  third  of  the  day  partly  in  reading  Gate's 
*  Agriculture,'  partly  in  writing,  not  quite  so  badly  as  yes- 
terday indeed.  Then,  after  waiting  upon  my  father,  I 
soothed  my  throat  with  honey  water,  ejecting  it  without 
swallowing :  I  might  say  gargle,  but  I  won't,  though  I 
think  the  word  is  found  in  Novius  and  elsewhere.  After 
attending  to  my  throat  I  went  to  my  father,  and  stood 
by  his  side  as  he  sacrificed.  Then  to  luncheon.  What 
do  you  think  I  had  to  eat  ?  A  bit  of  bread  so  big,  while 
I  watched  others  gobbling  boiled  beans,  onions,  and  fish 
full  of  roe.  Then  we  set  to  work  at  gathering  the  grapes, 
with  plenty  of  sweat  and  shouting,  and,  as  the  quotation 
runs, '  A  few  high-hanging  clusters  did  we  leave  survivors 
of  the  vintage.'  After  the  sixth  hour  we  returned  home. 
I  did  a  little  work,  and  poor  work  at  that.  Then  I  had  a 
long  gossip  with  my  dear  mother  sitting  on  the  bed.  My 
conversation  was :  What  do  you  think  my  friend  Pronto 
is  doing  just  now?  She  said:  And  what  do  you  think 
of  my  friend  Gratia?  My  turn  now:  And  what  of  our 
little  Gratia,  the  sparrow-kin  ?  After  this  kind  of  talk, 
and  an  argument  as  to  which  of  you  loved  the  other  most, 
the  gong  sounded,  the  signal  that  my  father  had  gone  to 
the  bath.  We  supped,  after  ablutions  in  the  oil-cellar — 
I  mean  we  supped  after  ablutions,  not  after  ablutions  in 
the  oil-cellar ;  and  listened  with  enjoyment  to  the  rustics 
gibing.  After  returning,  before  turning  on  my  side  to 
snore,  I  do  my  task  and  give  an  account  of  the  day  to  my 
delightful  master,  whom,  if  I  could  long  for  a  little  more, 


42        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

I  should  not  mind  growing  a  trifle  thinner.  Farewell 
Fronto,  wherever  you  are,  honey-sweet,  my  darling,  my 
delight.  Why  do  I  want  you  ?  I  can  love  you  while 
far  away."  * 

Marcus  was  advanced  to  an  equestrian  rank  when  but 
six  years  of  age ;  at  eight  the  Emperor  Hadrian  "  made 
him  a  member  of  the  ancient  SaHan  priesthood."  He 
was  nephew  by  marriage  to  Antoninus  Pius,  and  so  was 
from  the  very  beginning  set  apart  for  the  imperial  station. 
All  his  training  had  that  in  view.  His  friends  and  tutors 
kept  him  much  apart  from  the  world  of  luxurious  extrava- 
gance and  temptation,  taught  him  hardihood  of  body, 
mind  and  soul;  and  fitted  him,  more  successfully  than 
most  rulers  have  been  fitted,  for  the  high  station  which 
he  was  to  occupy.  He  names  his  friends  and  tutors  one 
by  one.  They  taught  him  not  to  busy  himself  about  vain 
things  nor  to  believe  those  things  which  are  commonly 
spoken,  nor  to  be  superstitious,  nor  to  be  mad  after  games ; 
to  sleep  on  the  philosopher's  couch  and  neither  to  be  af- 
fected nor  theatrical. 

He  is  especially  grateful  to  Rusticus,  who  taught  him 
*'  to  read  with  diligence ;  nor  to  rest  satisfied  with  a  light 
and  superficial  knowledge,  nor  quickly  to  assent  to  things 
commonly  spoken  of :  whom  also  I  must  thank  that  ever 
I  lighted  upon  Epictetus  his  Hypomnemata,  or  moral 
commentaries  and  commonefactions  which  also  he  gave 
me  of  his  own."  ^  To  ApoUonius,  who  taught  him  self- 
restraint  and  constancy,  '*  true  liberty,  and  unvariable 
steadfastness,  and  not  to  regard  anything  at  all,  though 
never  so  little,  but  right  and  reason :  and  always,  whether 
in  the  sharpest  pains,  or  after  the  loss  of  a  child,  or 

•  Appendix.      »  Meditations."     E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  1900. 
»  Book  I :  iv. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    43 

in  long  diseases,  to  be  still  the  same  man.  Of  him  also  I 
learned  how  to  receive  favours  and  kindnesses  (as  com- 
monly they  are  accounted ;)  from  friends,  so  that  I  might 
not  become  obnoxious  unto  them,  for  them,  nor  more 
yielding  upon  occasion,  than  in  right  I  ought ;  and  yet 
so  that  I  should  not  pass  them  neither,  as  an  unsensible 
and  unthankful  man."  *  Sextus  taught  him  *'  mildness 
and  the  pattern  of  a  family  governed  with  paternal  affec- 
tion;  and  a  purpose  to  live  according  to  nature;  to  be 
grave  without  affectation  ;  to  observe  carefully  the  several 
dispositions  of  my  friends,  not  to  be  offended  with  idiots, 
nor  unseasonably  to  set  upon  those  that  are  carried  with 
the  vulgar  opinions,  with  the  theorems,  and  tenets  of  phi- 
losophers." 2 

Alexander,  the  Platonist,  gave  him  counsel  which  men 
of  small  affairs,  who  make  their  petty  businesses  an  excuse 
for  impoliteness,  might  now  take  to  heart :  "  Not  often 
nor  without  great  necessity  to  say,  or  to  write  to  any  man 
in  a  letter, '  I  am  not  at  leisure; '  nor  in  this  manner  still 
to  put  off  those  duties,  which  we  owe  to  our  friends  and 
acquaintances  (to  every  one  in  his  kind)  under  pretense 
of  urgent  affairs."  ^  For  us  these  guides  and  tutors  are 
only  names,  but  the  gratitude  of  a  king  to  whom  they 
taught  true  kingliness  has  secured  for  them  the  remem- 
brance of  the  generations. 

The  boy  was  fortunate,  not  only  in  his  tutors  and 
his  friends,  but  also  in  his  imperial  tutelage.  The  un- 
derstanding between  him  and  Antoninus  Pius  was  so 
perfect  that  during  the  whole  of  that  happy  reign 
Marcus  Aurelius  slept  but  twice  outside  the  house  of 
Pius. 

The  long  reign  of  Antoninus  Pius  was  a  golden  period, 

»  Book  I :  V.  >  Book  I :  vi.  >  Book  I :  ix. 


44        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

not  only  in  the  history  of  Rome,  but  indeed  in  the  history 
of  the  world.  An  almost  unbroken  peace  held  through 
his  whole  administration ;  taxes  were  lightened,  the 
emperor's  government  was  efficient.  He  himself  was 
known  and  loved  from  the  frontiers  of  Persia  to  Hadrian's 
wall.  The  world  which  the  emperor  and  his  nephew  by 
marriage  (and  now  his  son-in-law,  for  Marcus  had  been 
betrothed  to  Faustina,  daughter  of  the  emperor)  knew 
and  ruled  was  in  some  ways  more  beautiful  and  ordered 
than  ever  before  or  since.  It  was  a  world  of  finished  and 
beautiful  cities,  of  corn-fields  and  vineyards,  of  villas  and 
countless  quiet  villages.  Roman  roads  ran  from  its 
centre  to  its  circumference ;  Roman  posts  carried  the 
mails.  For  a  time  so  long  that  the  memory  of  none 
living,  nor  of  their  fathers  or  their  fathers'  fathers  could 
run  to  the  contrary — all  those  beneath  the  guardianship 
of  the  Roman  eagles  had  been  secure  from  the  havoc 
and  the  rapine  of  war.  Kind  skies  brooded  over  those 
classic  lands  ;  their  temperate  light  fell  upon  countless 
temples  of  gleaming  marble  as  yet  unscarred,  and  only 
mellowed  by  the  gray  procession  of  the  years.  The 
temples  themselves  were  such  treasure-houses  of  art  that 
the  broken  torsos  of  their  gods  and  goddesses  are  the 
hoarded  wealth  of  our  own  museums.  Figures  of  bronze 
and  ivory  watched  upon  the  templed  heights  of  classic 
cities  or  guarded  their  busy  squares.  Roofs  and  gates 
of  gold  answered  the  rising  and  setting  sun,  and  pillared 
colonnades — made  splendid  with  mural  frescos  and  grate- 
ful by  cool  deep  shadows — lined  the  squares  and  streets. 
Upon  the  heights  of  the  Acropolis  the  consummate 
achievement  of  the  Parthenon  called  across  the  blue 
.^gean  waters  above  an  Athens  whose  political  and 
intellectual  glories  had  begun  to  be  eclipsed,  but  whose 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    45 

heart-breaking  perfectness  was  as  yet  unmarred.  Roman 
aqueducts  led  the  waters  of  the  Apenines  or  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Alps  to  the  baths  and  fountains  of  Gallic  and 
Italian  cities.  Western  Asia  and  Northern  Africa  were 
gardens  of  fertility,  swarming  with  population  and  centres 
of  culture.  The  Mediterranean  was  the  secure  highway 
of  the  nations.  Through  the  streets  of  Rome  herself  all 
the  peoples  of  the  world  came  and  went.  In  almost 
every  city  and  town  of  the  empire  there  were  also  those 
whose  faces  testified  to  the  dawning  of  a  new  and  noble 
spiritual  light,  who  named  the  name  of  Christ  as  the  sign 
of  their  brotherhood,  who  found  in  the  midst  of  condi- 
tions always  difficult  and  too  often  tragic,  such  compen- 
sations as  Epictetus  had  never  discovered,  who  looked 
with  far-seeing  eyes  across  the  hills  of  time  to  the  con- 
summations of  eternity,  and  who,  seeking  cities  which 
have  foundations,  had  their  true  citizenship  in  heaven. 
They  indeed  upon  occasion  found  it  hard  enough  to 
reconcile  their  heavenly  citizenship  with  the  stern  de- 
mands of  the  empire,  and  so  were  ground  between  the 
upper  millstone  of  their  consecration  and  their  faith  and 
the  nether  millstone  of  hard  imperial  conditions.  The 
picture  of  course  is  not  without  its  deep  and  menacing 
shadows.  There  was  an  almost  inconceivable  bulk  of 
sheer  idleness  in  this  fair  and  ordered  world.  In  Rome 
herself  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  able-bodied 
beggars  consumed  in  cruel  emptiness  of  life  the  sweat- 
born  products  of  the  provinces ;  greed  and  lust  and 
cruelty — a  bold  and  shameless  fellowship — walked  the 
highways  of  the  empire,  thronged  her  amphitheatre, 
dwelt  in  her  palaces.  The  dust  of  economic  decay,  as 
has  already  been  said,  was  everywhere,  but  none  the  less 
the  order,  the  beauty,  the  peace  which  marked  the  age 


46        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

of  the  Antonines  constituted  an  epoch  all  too  rare  in 
human  history. 

It  was  to  the  headship  of  such  an  empire  that  Marcus 
AureUus  came  in  the  year  i6i,  and  in  his  fortieth  year. 
He  associated  immediately  with  him,  in  the  full  adminis- 
tration of  the  empire,  his  adopted  brother,  Lucius  Verus. 
Verus  proved  himself  sadly  unworthy  and  was  mercifully 
removed.  After  that  Marcus  ruled  alone.  His  admin- 
istration was  coincident  with  famine,  plague,  and  far- 
reaching  misfortune.  The  skies  themselves  were  unkind, 
the  river  valleys  were  devastated  by  floods,  the  plague 
drew  in  from  the  East  in  the  train  of  conquering  legions, 
and  the  foes  of  the  empire  swarmed  upon  her  northern 
and  eastern  frontiers.  The  emperor  lived  in  the  saddle 
and  camp.  He  faced  the  hostilities  of  nature,  his  enemies, 
and  rebellion,  with  an  equal  mind  and  overcame  them 
all.  He  was  wounded  in  his  household,  his  wife  was 
unworthy  if  not  untrue;  of  all  his  children,  one  alone 
survived  himself,  to  bear  a  name  synonymous  with 
cruelty  and  depravity — Commodus. 

In  his  "  Meditations  "  Marcus  Aurelius  has  discovered 
for  us  the  sources  of  his  constancy,  faith,  and  power. 
They  are  the  examinations  of  his  own  conscience,  his 
silent  communion  with  himself  while  all  the  camp  save 
the  sentinels  slept,  and  only  the  lights  in  the  imperial 
tent  were  burning.  The  "  Meditations  "  show,  therefore, 
the  very  best  of  which  the  pagan  world  was  capable ; 
they  disclose  those  conceptions  of  life,  its  reenforcements 
and  compensations,  which  held  one  of  the  greatest  of 
men  to  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  tasks  through  two- 
score  troubled  years. 

A  lonely  self-sufficiency  breathes  through  all  the  book, 
for  that  is  the  essence  of  Stoicism.     The  Stoic  ventured 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    47 

much  on  the  sufficiency  of  human  reason,  the  strength 
of  the  human  will,  and  the  steadfastness  of  the  human 
spirit.  As  the  reverent  comrade  of  the  gods  he  seeks  to 
do  their  will,  but  if  there  be  no  gods  he  will  not  change 
his  course.  He  expects  from  the  gods  that  respect 
which  he  accords  them  as  their  vicegerent,  administer- 
ing a  realm  which  they  have  committed  to  him.  "  But 
gods  they  be  certainly  and  they  take  care  for  the  world ; 
and  as  for  those  things  which  be  truly  evil,  as  vice  and 
wickedness,  such  things  they  have  put  in  a  man's  own 
power,  that  he  might  avoid  them  if  he  would."  *  What- 
ever proceeds  from  the  gods  deserves  respect  for  its 
worth  or  excellency.  The  gods  themselves  then  are  to 
be  summoned  to  the  judgment  seat  of  this  all-sufficient 
reason.  They  are  to  be  honoured  not  for  their  godhead 
but  for  their  worth.  The  note  of  mystical  yearning  is 
here  far  to  seek.  The  restlessness  which,  says  St. 
Augustine,  moves  us  incessantly  till  we  rest  in  God, 
finds  here  no  expression,  or  if  indeed  it  is  expressed, 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  not  enough  a  physician  of  his  own 
soul  to  know  the  deeper  causes  of  his  sadness.  Nor  is 
there  any  indication  of  that  passionate  longing  for  re- 
demption and  reconciliation  which  stirred  strangely 
through  many  Oriental  religions,  broke  into  clear  flame 
in  Christianity,  and  found  its  hallowed  and  permanent 
expression  in  the  utterances  of  Saul  of  Tarsus.  If 
Marcus  Aurelius  ever  cried  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
*•  Oh  !  wretched  man  that  I  am,"  he  has  not  greatly 
made  us  his  confidants  nor  burdened  his  pages  with  any 
longing  for  a  deliverer. 

He  is  strongest  and  wisest  in  those  regions  in  which 
he  searches  for  and  discovers  the  enduring  values  and  the 

^  Book  II :  viii. 


48        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

just  balances  of  life.  He  is  constantly  calling  upon  him- 
self to  consider.  Group  by  group,  aspect  by  aspect,  he 
summons  before  him  the  occupations,  the  relations,  the 
experiences  of  life,  as  he  would  summon  the  administra- 
tors of  the  empire  to  his  imperial  judgment-seat,  and  one 
by  one  he  appraises  them  and  dismisses  them.  He  con- 
siders the  evanescence  of  life ;  ♦*  our  years  are  like  the 
shadows  on  sunny  hills  that  lie."  He  dwells  with  a  cer- 
tain grave,  noble  aloofness  upon  the  endless  procession  of 
birth  and  death,  the  vast  dissolving  of  bodies  and  sub- 
stances and  the  merging  of  their  very  memories  into  the 
general  age  and  time  of  the  world.  He  finds  httle  that 
is  permanent.  The  soul  is  restless,  fortune  uncertain, 
and  fame  doubtful.  "  As  a  stream  so  are  all  things  be- 
longing to  the  body ;  as  a  dream  or  as  smoke,  so  are  all 
that  belong  unto  the  soul."  Our  life  is  a  warfare  and  a 
mere  pilgrimage ;  fame  like  life  is  no  better  than  oblivion. 
Such  passages  as  these  contain  the  haunting  echoes  of  all 
their  meditations,  who,  standing  on  the  shores  of  the 
stream  of  time,  see  not  only  all  that  which  they  have 
loved  and  sought  perish  therein,  but  know  themselves  as 
also  borne  along  by  the  same  unresting  tides.  Here  the 
Psalmist  chants  with  the  Stoic,  "  Thou  earnest  them  away 
as  with  a  flood,  they  are  as  a  sleep  ; "  and  the  sad  music  of 
the  book  of  Job  deepens  with  an  immemorial  sorrow  the 
meditations  of  the  Roman.  "  He  fleeth  also  as  a  shadow 
and  continueth  not." 

*♦  What  is  it  then  that  will  adhere  and  follow  ?  Only 
one  thing,  philosophy.  And  philosophy  doth  consist  in 
this,  for  a  man  to  preserve  that  spirit  which  is  within 
him,  from  all  manner  of  contumelies  and  injuries,  and 
above  all  pains  or  pleasures  ;  wholly  to  depend  from 
himself,  and  his  own  proper  actions  :  all  things  that  hap- 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS    49 

pen  unto  him  to  embrace  contentedly,  as  coming  from 
Him  from  whom  he  himself  also  came ;  and,  above  all 
things,  with  all  meekness  and  a  calm  cheerfulness,  to  ex- 
pect death,  as  being  nothing  else  but  the  resolution  of 
those  elements,  of  which  every  creature  is  composed."  ^ 

Here  then  is  the  frame  in  which  the  emperor's  inter- 
pretation of  life  is  set  and  the  test  to  which  life  itself  is 
subject.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  all  this  way  of  thinking 
carries  with  it  the  germ  of  a  hopeless  fatalism ;  in  the 
face  of  fortune  so  unyielding  and  brevities  so  imperative, 
a  man  might  well  fold  his  hands  and  lie  down.  Marcus 
Aurelius  was  saved  from  all  this  by  a  deeper  sense  of  the 
nobility  of  hfe,  though  played  upon  so  brief  a  stage,  and 
by  fugitive  gleams  of  a  hope  which  shone  from  far  be- 
yond the  horizons  of  the  perishing.  Truth,  righteous- 
ness, temperance  and  fortitude  are  the  master  lights  of  all 
his  seeing.  Constrained  by  them,  he  sets  out  as  a  good 
soldier  and  takes  his  share  of  hardship.  The  very  cir- 
cumstances of  life  constrain  him  to  be  brave.  The  more 
there  is  to  be  borne  and  the  less  hope  there  is  of  anything 
but  the  wages  of  obHvion  in  bearing  it,  the  greater  the 
need  that  a  man  should  comport  himself  nobly.  He 
must  not  break  his  faith  nor  lose  his  modesty,  hate  any 
man,  or  above  all  desire  those  things  which  require  secret 
walls  or  veils.  Life  must  be  lived  in  a  great  openness, 
its  motives,  its  methods,  and  its  actions  must  be  open  to 
the  searching  of  an  universal  light.  This  is  no  world  for  a 
double-minded  man  ;  *♦  freely  make  choice  of  that  which 
is  best "  and  stick  to  it.  What  others  may  say  or  leave 
unsaid  is  of  little  worth.  The  compensations  of  life  are 
in  the  great  calls  of  life  itself,  and  the  sense  of  having 
greatly  lived  it.     There  are  no  weapons  which  can  wound 

»  Book  11  :  XV. 


50       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

us  which  we  do  not  ourselves  supply,  nor  can  any  really 
hurt  us  unless  we  ourselves  consent.  We  are  to  be 
noble,  steadfast ;  courage  itself  is  its  own  compensation. 
The  brave  man  meets  the  fortunes  of  life  as  the  promon- 
tory meets  the  sea,  and  stands  himself  steadfast  and  un- 
changing though  hostile  waves  lash  themselves  into 
foam  at  his  feet. 

Two  tempers,  opposing,  though  not  necessarily  hos- 
tile, are  much  in  evidence  in  Marcus  Aurelius's  attitude 
towards  life.  In  his  serener  moments  he  is  the  philo- 
sophic Stoic  ;  in  his  more  exalted  moments  he  is  in  the 
hands  of  a  just  and  considerate  God ;  in  his  lonelier  mo- 
ments he  is  a  self-sufficient  spirit  possessing  within  him- 
self resources  which  cannot  be  taken  from  him,  and  hav- 
ing the  power  always  to  retreat  into  a  citadel  from  which 
he  may  not  be  dislodged.  Truly  the  haunting  sense  of 
the  transitoriness  of  all  things  lies  like  a  great  and  poign- 
ant light  over  all  his  brooding,  but  from  time  to  time 
broken  anticipations  of  immortality  lend  to  his  sense  of 
mortality  far,  far  drawn  gleams  of  hope.  But  though  the 
shadows  of  the  temporal  soon  darken  these  all  too  brief 
visions  of  the  Unchanging,  he  is  never  supine  in  the  face 
of  this  execrable  brevity  of  life.  There  is  always  a  clear 
call  to  eager  courage.  We  must  make  haste,  not  only 
because  we  are  daily  nearer  to  death,  but  also  because  the 
conceptions  of  things  and  the  understanding  of  them 
ceases  first.  In  his  serener  states,  when  he  knows  him- 
self a  part  of  all  that  is,  and  life  at  its  best  a  profound  and 
far-reaching  harmony,  he  is  persuaded  that  all  things  are 
good.  The  world,  he  says,  is  like  a  baker's  loaf;  there 
are  indeed  fissures  in  the  crust  and  burnings  from  the 
oven,  but  it  is  all  a  part  of  the  loaf,  and  on  the  whole  the 
loaf  is  thereby  more  appetizing.     "  Figs  when  they  are 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     51 

quite  ripe  gape  open,  and  in  the  ripe  olives  the  very  cir- 
cumstances of  their  being  nearer  to  rottenness  adds  a  pe- 
cuHar  beauty  to  the  fruit ;  and  the  ears  of  corn  bending 
down,  and  the  Hon's  eyebrows,  and  the  foam  which  flows 
from  the  mouth  of  wild  boars,  and  many  other  things, 
though  they  are  far  from  being  beautiful,  if  a  man  should 
examine  them  severally,  still,  because  they  are  conse- 
quential upon  the  things  which  were  formed  by  nature, 
help  to  adorn  them  and  they  please  the  mind."  ^  All 
things  are  good  then  in  their  several  degrees  to  the  man 
so  conceiving  the  world  as  ready  to  share  its  fortunes, 
submit  to  its  loss,  bow  to  its  ultimatums.  "  Whatsoever 
is  expedient  unto  thee,  O  World,  is  expedient  unto  me ; 
nothing  can  either  be  unseasonable  unto  me,  or  out  of 
date,  which  unto  thee  is  seasonable.  Whatsoever  thy 
seasons  bear,  shall  ever  by  me  be  esteemed  as  happy  fruit 
and  increase.  O  Nature !  from  thee  are  all  things,  in 
thee  all  things  subsist,  and  to  thee  all  tend.  Could  he 
say  of  Athens,  Thou  lovely  city  of  Cecrops ;  and 
shalt  not  thou  say  of  the  world.  Thou  lovely  city  of 
God  ? " 2 

In  its  rarer  expressions  this  temper  really  becomes  a 
real  sense  of  relationship  with  God,  itself  the  hidden 
secret  of  all  power  and  beauty.  "  For  without  relation 
unto  God,  thou  shalt  never  speed  in  any  worldly  actions ; 
nor  on  the  other  side  in  any  divine,  without  some 
respect  had  to  things  human."  ^  But  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
in  many  regions  of  his  life,  Marcus  Aurelius  was  the 
sturdiest  of  non-conformers.  Again  and  again  he  dis- 
misses as  inconsequential  fortune,  circumstance,  the  in- 
cidents and  recompenses  of  life.     His  soul  is  his  citadel. 

»  Book  III :  ii  (Long's  translation).  2  Book  IV  :  xix. 

'  Book  III  :  xiv. 


52       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Pleasure  and  pain  are  always  indifferent  and  the  na- 
ture of  all  worldly  sensible  things  such  that  the  wise 
man  having  considered  them  casts  them  out  of  his  life 
plan. 

The  emperor  in  his  meditations  upon  the  nature  and 
power  of  the  soul  speaks  with  sustained  nobility.  The 
soul  is  the  true  treasure-house ;  there  the  real  and  endur- 
ing wealth  of  life  is  to  be  stored.  The  soul  is  a  great 
trust  to  be  nobly  used.  The  soul  is  something  to  be 
kept  or  lost  or  even  exchanged.  The  soul  is  the  test  of 
the  essential  self.  If  one  has  a  child's,  a  youth's,  a 
woman's,  a  tyrant's,  or  even  a  wild  beast's  soul,  then  one 
has  fallen  from  his  high  estate.*  It  is  in  terms  of  the  life 
of  the  soul  that  God-comradeship  is  to  be  defined.  "  He 
Hveth  with  the  Gods,  who  at  all  times  affords  unto  them 
the  spectacle  of  a  soul,  both  contented  and  well  pleased 
with  whatsoever  is  afforded,  or  allotted  unto  her ;  and 
performing  whatsoever  is  pleasing  to  that  spirit,  whom 
(being  part  of  Himself)  Jove  hath  appointed  to  every 
man  as  his  overseer  and  governor."  ^ 

The  soul  is  an  inviolable  sanctuary  into  which,  retreat- 
ing, a  man  may  always  be  at  peace,  and  the  soul  comes  in 
the  end,  when  the  voyage  of  life  is  done,  to  shores 
whether  of  oblivion  or  peace,  as  the  mariner  comes  to  his 
appointed  haven. 

Death  has  no  terrors  for  Marcus  Aurelius.  He  is  con- 
stantly cataloguing  their  names  who  have  passed  into  the 
shadows.  Emperors  and  princes,  statesmen  and  coun- 
sellors, freedmen  and  slaves — all  having  set  sail  come  not 
back.  He  himself  awaits,  sometimes  almost  with  eager- 
ness, the  approach  of  the  ferryman.  If  there  be  gods  in 
all  lands  where  he  shall  make  his  landing,  it  will  be  well 

1  Book  V  :  xi.  «  Book  V  :  xxi. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     53 

with  him  ;  if  there  be  no  gods,  why  should  he  cry  out 
against  oblivion  and  endless  sleep.  ' 

Now  between  these  extremes — a  serene  acceptance  of 
all  that  comes  as  good  and  a  lonely  spiritual  self-suffi- 
ciency— the  emperor  counsels  himself  much  about  the 
practical  conduct  of  hfe.  He  is  to  be  accessible,  unhur- 
ried, courteous,  and  always  serene.  He  is  to  be  open  to 
the  teaching  of  experience  and  accept  the  indications 
and  mutability  of  life  and  fortune.  He  is  to  take  no 
mean  revenge,  nor  allow  himself  to  be  swayed  by  un- 
worthy motives.  He  is  to  remember  especially  how 
fickle  a  jade  is  fortune ;  how  uncertain  fame ;  and  how 
capricious  the  judgments  of  men.  He  is  constantly  to 
test  his  sense  of  values  by  the  highest  and  most  endur- 
ing. He  is  to  act  with  proportion  and  balance  ;  he  is  to 
live  as  a  man  driven  by  the  brevity  of  life,  and  yet  with 
the  large  leisure  of  those  who  never  die.  He  is  to  keep 
himself  "  truly  simple,  good,  sincere,  grave,  free  from  all 
ostentation,  a  lover  of  that  which  is  just,  religious,  kind, 
tender-hearted,  strong,  and  vigorous  to  undergo  any- 
thing that  becomes  him."  *  He  is  to  find  in  his  own 
mind  the  cure  for  the  ills  of  life  ;  he  is  to  be  always  re- 
membering that  nothing  may  wound  the  inner  and  truer 
part  of  him  except  by  his  own  permission.  He  must 
summon  his  own  acts  as  he  summons  his  subjects  to  the 
tribunals  of  judgment.  He  is  to  remember  that  no  man 
is  a  true  man  cut  off  from  his  fellows  ;  that  what  is  good 
for  the  hive  is  good  for  the  bees.  He  is  to  keep  his 
body  under,  to  hold  death  in  contempt,  and  to  walk  as 
one  worthy  of  the  fellowship  of  the  gods  whether  there 
be  gods  or  no.  And  yet  in  his  heart  he  knows  that  God 
is  and  that  He  is  not  only  the  rewarder  of  all  those  who 

1  Book  III  :  iii.  2  Book  VI :  xxvii. 


54       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

diligently  seek  Him,  but  the  searcher  of  the  deep  things 
of  our  spirits.  «'  God  beholds  our  minds  and  under- 
standings, bare  and  naked  from  these  material  vessels, 
and  outsides,  and  all  earthly  dross.  For  with  His  simple 
and  pure  understanding,  He  pierceth  into  our  inmost  and 
purest  parts."  ^  Marcus  Aurelius  constantly  strives  so  to 
bear  himself  that  he  shall  stand  in  the  presence  of  such  a 
searching  and  self-revealing  light  unashamed. 

Beyond  that,  he  takes  his  part  as  a  brave  player  upon 
a  little  stage,  content  to  be  dismissed,  as  he  was  called, 
by  the  power  which  sets  the  stage  and  determines  each 
player's  part.  "  For  in  matter  of  life,  three  acts  is  the 
whole  play.  Now  to  set  a  certain  time  to  every  man's 
acting  belongs  unto  him  only,  who  as  first  he  was  of  thy 
composition,  so  is  now  the  cause  of  thy  dissolution.  As 
for  thyself,  thou  hast  to  do  with  neither.  Go  thy  ways 
then,  well  pleased  and  contented :  for  so  is  He  that  dis- 
misseth  thee."  ^ 

We  come  to  see  when  we  are  done  with  the  "  Medita- 
tions "  that  their  deeper  unity  must  be  sought  in  the  in- 
ner life  of  the  emperor  himself.  They  have  such  logic 
as  belongs,  for  example,  to  "  In  Memoriam," — the  logic 
of  a  brooding  and  perturbed  spirit  facing  the  supreme 
problems  and  challenges  of  life,  moving  from  phase  to 
phase  of  them,  now  in  acceptance,  now  in  rebeUion,  now 
in  faith,  now  in  doubt,  now  in  pain,  now  in  peace.  It  is 
too  much  to  ask  of  a  soldier  king  the  reason  and  deliver- 
ances of  a  disciplined  philosophy.  Marcus  Aurelius' 
"  Meditations  "  are  the  many-faceted  play  of  his  mind 
around  great  central  themes,  and  his  temper  varies  with 
the  conditions  under  which  he  writes,  and  what  he 
writes  varies   with    his    temper.     You     must    not    seek 

»  Book  XII :  ii.  '  Book  XII :  xxvii. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     55 

utter  consistency  in  the  moods  even  of  the  wisest  and 
best. 

The  temper  of  Marcus  Aurelius  varies,  as  has  been 
said,  between  two  remote  and  contradictory  extremes. 
There  are  times — one  can  easily  imagine  them — when 
beneath  the  clear  shining  of  the  stars  he  feels  himself  the 
child  of  the  passing  and  perishing,  yet  in  the  hands  of  an 
eternal  strength  and  a  wisdom  too  vast  for  comprehen- 
sion, and  when  to  strive  and  cry  aloud  seems  unworthy 
of  his  soul  and  the  silences.  So  Carlyle  betakes  himself 
and  his  pipe  to  the  little  back  garden  of  the  house  in 
Chelsea  and  in  the  intervals  of  an  ail-too  wakeful  night 
composes  his  soul  beneath  the  stars.  But  Carlyle's  soul 
did  not  stay  composed,  and  while  the  emperor  has  no- 
where any  such  explosions  of  restless  gropings  as  Car- 
lyle, he  docs  not  long  nor  largely  rest  in  such  quietistic 
musings,  for  when  the  morning  comes  and  the  cares  of 
state  overwhelm  him,  and  the  foes  of  the  empire  chal- 
lenge his  legions,  and  reports  of  rebellions  come  from 
the  provinces,  rumours  of  plague  from  Rome,  and  "  de- 
struction wastcth  at  noonday ; "  then  he  forgets  the 
mystic  broodings  of  the  night  and  becomes  the  lonely 
competent,  making  headway  against  the  presence  of  hos- 
tile circumstances  by  the  power  of  his  own  spirit,  thank- 
ing whatever  gods  there  be,  not  for  a  world  in  which  all 
that  is  is  good,  but  that 

"  In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed." 

Then  once  more  the  mood  changes ;  he  seeks  the  eter- 
nal values.     He  finds  in  himself  the  springs  of  an  unfail- 


56       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

ing  serenity.     Then  he  too  falling  with  his  •'  weight  of 
cares  " 

*'  Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 
That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God," 
Does  **  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  "  he  feels  *'  is  Lord  of  all," 
And  faintly  trusts  *'  the  larger  hope." 

Alternating  moods  therefore  of  resignation,  a  serene 
but  none  the  less  real  defiance,  and  mystical  yearnings 
which  find  expression  rather  in  his  sadness  than  his 
speech,  colour  the  passages  of  the  "  Meditations." 
Through  it  all  one  thing  clearly  emerges  :  the  picture  of 
the  emperor  himself — so  much  gentleness  and  so  much 
strength  have  rarely  sat  upon  a  throne.  Surely  here  is  a 
man  to  be  put  alongside  Edward  the  Confessor  and  St. 
Louis, — a  crowned  and  sceptred  mystic. 

"  In  Marcus  Aurelius,  last  of  the  great  pagan  moral- 
ists, there  are  two  men  :  one  cast  in  an  antique  mould  for 
whom  the  service  of  the  state  is  the  first  duty ;  the  other 
child  of  a  new  age,  who  loves  to  retire  within  himself,  to 
take  thought  for  his  own  soul,  to  establish  himself  in 
charity,  to  meditate  upon  the  transitoriness  of  life  and  the 
world,  and  upon  the  laws  of  God.  His  book  is  full,  not 
of  ideas,  but  of  Christian  attitudes  and  dispositions.  It  is 
as  if  some  wandering  breath  of  the  new  Faith  had  met 
and  penetrated  spiritual  remotenesses  which  sought  least 
of  all  to  be  so  touched.  Without  denying  the  principles 
of  his  school  or  renouncing  the  familiar  and  consecrated 
formulas,  with  no  suspicion  indeed  of  vaster  and  under- 
lying truths,  the  Stoicism  of  Marcus  Aurelius  tended  to 
lose  itself  in  a  kind  of  mysticism,  if  one  may  so  name  the 
Hking    for   moral  contemplation,  the   indifference  to  the 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     57 

world,  this  abandon  of  self  to  Providence,  this  ecstasy  of  a 
soul  rapt  by  the  laws  divine."  * 

"  Marcus  Aurelius  lent  to  Stoicism  a  new  accent,  mel- 
lowed its  hard  precepts  by  his  own  innate  tenderness. 
By  his  sovereign  example  as  well  as  by  his  words  he 
sought  to  exalt  the  love  of  God  and  man  into  a  law.  .  .  . 
Through  him  the  pagan  philosophy  touched  the  very 
foundations  of  Christianity.  What  was  wanting  was  a 
religious  basis  which  a  pantheistic  stoicism  could  not 
offer.  They  had  pious  and  confused  desires,  but  they 
did  not  know  to  what  to  relate  themselves  ;  they  knew 
only  a  God  half-lost  in  the  world  of  space  and  time,  and 
a  future  without  hope.  Their  scorn  of  the  world  needed 
a  consolation,  their  so  vague  life  an  object,  their  sorrow 
a  deathless  hope."  ^ 

Marcus  Aurelius  and  his  comrades  needed  not  only  a 
clearly  defined  faith,  a  worthy  object  of  love  and  a  hope 
beyond  the  grave,  they  needed  a  conquering  and  trans- 
forming vision.  Their  philosophy  was  fatally  lacking  in 
either  the  affirmations  of  principles  or  the  disclosure  of  a 
spirit  by  which  the  empire,  whether  of  Rome  or  of  life, 
is  to  be  enlarged  and  made  victorious.  Some  haunting 
consciousness  of  ultimate  social  and  moral  defeat  breathes 
like  the  rising  of  a  great,  sad  wind  through  the  chapters  of 
the  "  Meditations."  They  reveal  a  decaying  order  ;  they 
are  the  interpretation  of  life  by  an  emperor  who  does  not 
hope  to  widen  his  realm  or  plant  the  eagles  in  regions  as 
yet  unsubdued.  The  secret  of  this  self-recognized  limi- 
tation is  to  be  sought,  not  in  the  strength  of  the  men 
who  pressed  hard  upon  the  Roman  frontiers,  but  in  the 
deep  interior  weakness  of  the  men  who  defended  those 

1  Martha,  Les  Moralistes  Sous  L'Empire  Romain,  L'Examen  de  Con- 
science d'un  Empereur  Romain.  '  I  bid. 


5 8        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

frontiers.  It  is  not  in  pantheistic  resignation  to  the  neces- 
sity of  an  encompassing  order,  in  pious  communings  with 
shadowy  gods,  or  in  pietistic  withdrawals  into  the  sanc- 
tuary of  the  soul,  that  the  conquering  eagles  are  to  be 
advanced.  We  are  needing  always  to  do  more  than  affirm 
that  things  cannot  harm  us.  We  are  needing  to  affirm 
that  they  are  the  ministers  of  our  strength  and  our  well- 
being,  not  bludgeons  whose  battlings  we  may  bear  with 
bloody  and  unbowed  heads,  but  potential  swords  to  be 
tempered  and  fashioned  for  eternal  conquest.  Put  over 
against  all  this  the  great  and  culminative  and  passionate 
words  of  St.  Paul,  "  Nay,  in  all  these  things  we  are  more 
than  conquerors  through  Him  that  loved  us.  For  I  am 
persuaded,  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
principalities,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor 
powers,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature, 
shall  be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  which 
is  in  Christ  Jesus,  our  Lord.  What  then  shall  we  say  to 
these  things  ?  If  God  is  for  us,  who  is  against  us  ?  He 
that  spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  dchvcrcd  Him  up  for 
us  all,  how  shall  He  not  also  with  Him  freely  give  us  all 
things  ?  " 

Wc  may,  says  the  emperor,  desert  field  after  field  as 
long  as  we  maintain  our  own  integrity ;  let  go  fortune, 
let  go  felicity,  let  go  friends,  let  go  life  itself ;  so  long  as 
we  have  maintained  our  spiritual  integrity,  we  have  lived 
aright.  Now  all  this  is  true,  and  there  is  immense  and 
continuing  need  that  we  remember  it.  Some  elements 
of  Stoicism  must  enter  into  every  brave  and  adequate 
life.  Nor,  as  has  been  intimated,  was  Paul  himself  a 
stranger  to  what  is  essential  in  the  thought  and  expres- 
sion of  the  Stoic.  But  all  this  is  not  enough.  Life  is 
not  for  letting  go,  hfe  is  for  achievement  and  transfor- 


MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS     59 

mation.  These,  its  challenges,  its  barriers,  its  untoward 
circumstances,  its  battles,  its  burdens,  and  its  tears, 
are  but  impelling  opportunities,  trumpet  calls  across 
the  fields  of  time.  Spiritual  integrity  is  to  be  won  by 
mastering  them, — making  them  tributary  to  the  soul's 
supremacy,  wringing  from  them  the  gifts  which  they  hold 
hard  closed  in  reluctant  hands.  They  are  to  be  wrestled 
with  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  while  we  cry  as  Jacob 
cried,  "  I  will  not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  me." 
Then  though  the  morning  find  us  wounded,  it  shall  find 
us  triumphant.  And  all  this  becomes  possible  only  in 
the  light  of  a  faith  which  Marcus  Aurehus  never  attained, 
and  in  the  conception  of  a  reenforcing  and  redeeming 
God  which  was  not  vouchsafed  to  him.  There  were  com- 
mon folk  in  the  streets  of  his  imperial  city,  such  is  the 
irony  of  fate, — men  and  women  whom  he  passed  with  as 
near  scorn  as  could  dwell  in  that  magnanimous  breast, 
and  whom,  by  a  strange  and  cruel  paradox,  he  himself 
persecuted,  who  could  have  taught  him  the  secret  for 
which  he  yearned.  It  was  to  them  the  future  belonged, 
and  not  to  the  emperor  and  his  friends  ;  they  had  been 
taught  the  secret  of  overcoming,  they  had  come  up  out 
of  great  tribulation,  they  had  made  the  darkness  of  the 
catacombs  radiant  with  their  faith,  and  its  silences  vocal 
with  their  praise.  They  looked  for  a  city  which  hath 
foundations,  and  the  passion  of  their  quest  for  the 
Unseen  and  the  Eternal  lent  conquering  soHdity  to  their 
hold  upon  the  earth.  If  only,  one  may  speculate,  the 
Christian  Church  might  have  seen  in  its  morning,  as  it 
sees  now  in  its  high  forenoon,  its  duty  to  the  world  that 
now  is,  and  if  the  splendour  and  solidity  of  the  Roman 
administration  might  have  had  the  moral  cleansing,  and 
the  spiritual  illumination,  and  the   new  definitions  of  hu- 


6o       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

man  values,  and  the  new  sense  of  the  fellowship  of  God, 
which  moved  the  Christian  Church,  how  might  not  the 
history  of  the  world  have  been  rewritten.  If  Aurelius 
the  devout,  instead  of  Constantine  the  crafty,  could  have 
been  the  first  Christian  emperor,  how  might  not  the  his- 
tory of  the  Christian  Church  have  been  rewritten.  But 
it  was  not  so  to  be. 

Let  us  be  done  then  with  judging  what  was  in  the 
light  of  what  might  have  been.  Marcus  Aurelius  lived 
in  what  light  he  had,  nor  was  that  light  but  darkness. 
To  have  had  brave,  clear  purposes,  to  have  sought  bal- 
ance and  proportion,  to  have  exalted  the  right,  to  have 
lived  as  a  soldier  always  waiting  the  trumpet  call,  to  have 
faced  death  without  fear,  to  have  kept  one's  soul  as  a 
citadel — surely  this  is  no  mean  and  unworthy  fashion  of 
life,  nor  will  the  hght  of  it  soon  be  clouded.  And  when 
all  this  was  touched  with  emotion  and  illustrated  by  the 
example  of  a  man  set  upon  the  high  places  of  the  world's 
administration,  when  the  hand  which  held  so  dominant  a 
sceptre  was  the  hand  of  gentleness  and  justice,  and  when 
upon  the  head  of  the  soldier  king  there  were  crowns,  not 
only  of  administration  but  of  subordination,  so  that  he 
who  kept  his  empire  truly,  kept  his  soul  nobly, — we  have 
such  an  assembling  of  noble  qualities  in  a  great  guise 
that  the  throne  which  made  them  highly  manifest  is 
doubly  illustrious,  and  the  book  in  which  the  man  who 
sat  upon  that  throne  has  uncovered  his  heart  one  of  the 
great  treasures  of  the  life  of  the  spirit. 


II 

The  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine 

WITH  the  death  of  Marcus  Aurehus  the  peace 
of  the  Roman  world  came  to  an  end.  The 
ruin  of  the  empire  was  indeed  long  delayed. 
From  time  to  time  great  generals  reestablished  the  ancient 
integrity  of  its  frontiers,  and  great  executives  secured 
anew  the  dignity  of  its  ancient  administrations,  but  none 
the  less  all  this  was  but  the  postponing  of  the  inevitable. 
An  immemorial  order  had  begun  to  yield  to  the  shocks 
of  time  and  change.  The  deepening  shadows  of  an 
imminent  doom  drew  irretrievably  across  all  those  radiant 
lands,  so  long  the  homes  of  beauty,  peace  and  order. 

Swift  and  tragic  changes  in  rulers  succeeded,  to  begin 
with,  the  grave  stabilities  of  the  administration  of  the  five 
good  emperors.  Within  a  century  twenty-three  men 
were  lifted,  largely  by  the  stormy  suffrages  of  the  legions, 
to  the  headship  of  the  empire — only  to  be  as  speedily 
cast  down,  dizzy  with  cruelty,  lust  and  power,  helpless  in 
the  face  of  staggering  tasks  of  administration,  and  using 
their  brief  exaltation  only  for  their  own  deeper  degrada- 
tion. When  at  the  end  of  so  chaotic  a  period  men  who 
really  knew  how  to  rule  were  set  upon  the  throne  they 
altered  its  very  traditions.  The  shadowy  survivals  of  the 
constitution  of  the  republic  were  robbed  of  their  last 
political  significance.  The  temper  and  fashion  of  Ori- 
ental  monarchies,   bizarre,  diademed,  magnificent,  sup- 

6i 


^2       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

planted  what  broken  traditions  of  the  austere  sim- 
plicity of  the  fathers  of  the  Roman  state  still  lingered 
in  the  palaces  of  the  Caesars.  There  was,  however,  a  real 
sagacity  and  solidity  of  administration  behind  all  this 
pomp  and  show.  The  empire  was  too  great  for  a  single 
head.  Two  senior  rulers,  called  Augusti,  divided  the 
East  and  the  West  between  them.  Constantine  built  his 
capital  city  at  the  meeting-place  of  the  East  and  the 
West,  and  lo  !  Rome  was  no  longer  the  chief  seat  of 
the  government  of  the  empire  to  which  she  had  given 
her  name.  In  this  last  vain  effort  to  assert  a  universal 
dominion,  the  Roman  eagles  confessed  their  essential 
powerlessness  in  the  face  of  divisive  forces  old  as  human- 
ity and  deep  as  its  deathless  tempers,  for  the  ineffaceable 
distinctions  between  Occident  and  Orient,  Greek  and 
Latin,  which  now  began  to  reassert  themselves  were 
prophetic  of  the  reemergence  of  racial  distinctions  every- 
where and  of  the  new  birth  of  nations. 

All  this  was  coincident  with  the  increasing  restlessness 
of  the  peoples  who  lay,  half  lost  in  their  remote  and 
lonely  forests,  along  all  the  frontiers  of  the  empire. 
Themselves  hard  driven  from  behind,  they  pressed  with 
growing  power  upon  barriers  which  were  as  constantly 
losing  their  strength  to  defend,  and  their  majesty  to  over- 
awe. What  remote  compulsions  lay  behind  this  strange 
restlessness  of  the  races  we  shall  never  know.  The  very 
interiors  of  Asia  were  affected.  Climatic  changes  may 
have  rendered  lands  once  fertile  uninhabitable ;  hunger 
and  thirst  have  come  into  action.  At  any  rate,  readjust- 
ments thus  inaugurated  communicated  themselves  from 
people  to  people  and  vast  agitations  began  which  have, 
from  that  day  to  this,  hardly  known  cessation.  The 
story  of  the  movements  of  the  peoples  does  not  end  un- 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     63 

til  the  Norsemen  were  done  with  France,  the  Danes  and 
the  Normans  with  England.  Indeed  it  did  not  end  then, 
for  scarcely  had  these  readjustments  worked  themselves 
out  when  Europe  threw  herself  back  upon  the  East  in  the 
crusades,  and  the  last  crusading  fervour  had  hardly 
cooled  its  fires  before  adventurous  ships  began  to  ques- 
tion the  gray  Atlantic  and  shadowy  remembrances  of 
sunken  Atlantis  called  men  to  the  doors  of  a  virgin 
world  and  continued  the  story  of  the  migration  of  the 
peoples  in  new  lands  and  under  alien  skies.  So  much  we 
see  now  as  we  cast  back  over  the  ages.  For  the  Roman 
all  this  meant  that  his  frontiers  were  increasingly  hard  to 
keep ;  that  he  was  compelled  to  ask  the  warriors  of  the 
north  to  guard  that  which  they  sought  to  possess  ;  that  so 
he  laid  bare  his  weakness  and  taught  the  men  he  feared 
how  to  seize  the  heritage  of  his  children. 

Under  such  circumstances  the  inevitable  happened. 
The  outposts  of  the  empire  were  abandoned ;  lands  so 
long  held  by  the  Latins  that  their  inhabitants  had  lost 
their  own  language,  their  very  racial  consciousness,  were 
given  up  and,  if  they  were  in  part  and  for  a  moment  re- 
covered, such  recoveries  were  but  the  futile  reassertion  of 
an  idle  dominion.  While  Augustine,  a  boy  of  twelve, 
played  upon  the  streets  of  Thagaste,  or  plundered  the 
orchards  of  his  long-suffering  fellow-citizens,"  the  eastern 
frontiers  of  the  empire  were  menaced  by  the  Persians, 
the  northern  by  the  Greeks."  As  he  began  to  consort 
with  the  men  in  the  baths,  the  Goths  crossed  the  Danube, 
annihilated  the  forces  of  the  East  at  Adrianople,  and 
knocked  at  the  very  doors  of  Constantinople ;  while  he 
strove  with  his  own  soul  in  the  schools  of  Milan,  Maximus 
kindled  Britain  and  Gaul  with  the  fires  of  revolt.  While 
he  ministered  as  Bishop  of  Hippo,  the  perishing  empire 


64       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

was  finally  divided.  While  he  strove  against  the  Dona- 
tists  and  began  to  forge  those  weapons  with  which  the 
heresies  of  Pelagius  were  to  be  confounded,  Alaric  and 
his  Goths,  twice  turned  from  the  walls  of  Rome,  entered 
at  last  through  gates  unbarred  by  treachery  into  the  city 
and  ravished  the  immemorial  mistress  of  the  world  at 
once  of  her  treasures  and  her  inviolability. 

Beneath  such  turnings  and  overturnings,  the  Christian 
Church  had  been  laying  the  mystical  foundations  of  her 
dominion  over  the  souls  of  men  and  the  crasser  founda- 
tions of  that  ecclesiastical  empire  which  was  to  reestablish 
and  perpetuate  in  another  realm  the  authority  of  Rome 
and  associate  it  all  with  the  name  of  Him  who  died  at  the 
sentence  of  a  Roman  procurator — who  proclaimed  His 
kingdom  as  not  of  this  world,  and  whose  gentleness  and 
humility  were  in  their  essence  more  remote  from  all  the 
suggestions  of  the  Roman  purple  than  are  the  wide- 
wandering  constellations  one  from  another. 

It  is  not  easy,  passing  behind  the  concealing  years,  to 
reconstitute  the  story  of  the  expanding  Church.  The 
early  Church  grew  by  personal  contact ;  it  grew  in  un- 
noticed ways  and  obscure  places.  Little  groups  gathered 
together  in  every  city  in  the  empire,  meeting  in  the  upper 
rooms  of  the  houses  of  their  more  prosperous  members  ; 
churches,  worshipping  in  secret,  guarding  their  faith, 
keeping  their  sacraments.  From  time  to  time,  with  a 
ferocity  which  might  have  been  fatal  had  it  not  been 
spasmodic,  the  wrath  of  the  State  was  poured  upon  their 
devoted  heads ;  then  they  betook  themselves  to  the 
catacombs  or  hid  themselves  as  they  might  until  the 
storm  was  overpast.  But  none  the  less  by  the  grace  of 
God  they  grew.  With  their  increase  the  question  of 
their  relationship  to  the  civic  and  social  order  of  which 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     65 

they  were  a  part  became  more  pressing  and  fateful.  The 
recital  of  their  disentanglement  from  the  smothering  web 
of  Paganism  into  which  they  were  woven  lends  to  the 
pages  of  Boissier  an  interest  which  his  scholarship  illu- 
mines and  his  style  enriches.  All  their  spiritual  com- 
pulsions were  at  bitter  odds  with  the  necessary  forms  of 
their  lives.  If  they  threw  a  handful  of  incense  on  the 
fires  before  the  bust  of  the  emperor,  they  were  before 
their  own  consciences  guilty  of  the  grossest  idolatry ;  if 
they  refused,  they  were  in  the  eyes  of  all  their  fellows 
branded  as  traitors.  If  they  hung  garlands  upon  the 
door-posts  in  the  day  of  the  emperor's  triumph,  they 
recognized  the  integrity  of  the  pagan  gods  ;  if  they  left 
their  windows  unlighted  and  their  doors  undecorated, 
they  were  disloyal  to  the  State.  The  very  waters  which 
they  drank  were  drawn  from  springs  long  associated  with 
guardian  spirits.  The  food  which  they  bought  in  the 
markets  had  first  been  offered  to  heathen  gods  and  con- 
secrated in  pagan  temples.  If  they  sent  their  children 
to  school,  the  literature  which  they  studied  was  saturated 
with  pagan  associations.  The  wonder  is  not  that,  so 
constrained  and  entangled,  they  were  from  time  to  time 
— aliens  and  outcasts, — assailed  with  fires  which  their 
own  blood  extinguished,  but  that  they  had  power  and 
constancy  enough  to  tear  the  web  asunder,  release  them- 
selves, and  save  their  Church  and  their  faith. 

Forty  years  before  the  birth  of  Augustine  the  long 
agony  ended.  In  their  steadfastness  they  had  won  their 
souls ;  Constantine  made  the  mystic  sign  of  their  re- 
demption the  standard  of  his  conquering  legions,  granted 
them  religious  freedom  in  an  edict  named  after  the  city 
in  which  Augustine  was  to  find  his  second  birth,  pro- 
fessed  a   conversion   whose   motives    were   of  doubtful 


66       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

purity,  and  secured  for  the  Church  to  which  he  joined 
himself  a  temporal  ascendency  which  was  in  the  end  to 
cost  it  dear. 

The  Church  was  freed  from  its  struggle  with  the  em- 
pire, only  to  be  involved  in  theological  controversies 
which  came  near  being  more  dangerous  to  its  real  life 
than  the  wrath  of  the  emperors  had  ever  been.  In  the 
East,  the  fatal  gift  of  speculative  insight  divorced  from 
effective  action,  which  had  cost  the  Greeks  their  poHtical 
liberty,  weakened  and  divided  the  Church.  In  times  so 
troubled,  when  a  world  order  was  rocking  to  its  founda- 
tions and  nations  were  in  travail,  the  Church  could  not 
live  by  speculation  alone,  even  though  the  great  con- 
siderations to  which  the  Greek  Fathers  addressed  them- 
selves had  inevitably  to  be  faced,  and  although  their 
nobler  conclusions  have  been  as  the  very  horses  and 
chariots  of  God.  Born  of  the  Greek  temper  and  ad- 
dressed to  peoples  shaped  by  Hellenic  speculations,  those 
controversies  and  their  central  theme  would  have  seemed 
more  insubstantial  to  the  children  of  the  northern  forests 
than  the  mists  of  their  marshy  woodlands.  They  needed 
another  discipline ;  they  must  be  appealed  to  by  other 
interests.  If  the  Church  were  to  survive  the  perishing 
empire,  it  must  have  strength  enough  to  transform  the 
restless  races  who  were  to  possess  the  lands  of  the  em- 
pire and  inherit  its  memories,  teach  them  discipline  and 
order,  and  bow  them  with  new  consecration  to  the  hal- 
lowed tasks  of  life. 

By  the  grace  of  God,  Augustine  shaped  the  forces 
which  accomplished  just  this.  He  was  born  in  northern 
Africa  in  the  year  354.  The  half  century  which  pre- 
ceded his  birth  had  been  full  of  the  tumult  and  bitterness 
of  the  Arian   controversy.     During  the   early  years  of 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    67 

Augustine's  boyhood  "  Athanasius  stood  alone  against 
the  world  and  for  six  years  was  sheltered  by  faithful 
monks  in  the  lonely  monasteries  of  the  Thebaid  situated 
on  the  tops  of  the  mountains  or  on  the  islands  of  the  Nile." 
He  was  only  a  boy  when  Julian  sought  to  turn  back  the 
clock  of  time  and  defeat  the  pathetic  prophecies  of  the 
twilight  of  the  gods.  Augustine's  father  was  a  pagan ; 
his  mother,  Monica,  a  devout  and  simple-hearted  Chris- 
tian with  a  passion  for  her  son's  salvation  which  neither 
the  years  nor  untoward  fortune  could  cool,  a  faith  which 
shone  always  undarkened,  and  a  simple  patience  which 
did  not  in  the  end  go  unrewarded. 

The  northern  Africa  of  to-day  is  not  the  northern 
Africa  of  Augustine.  Fourteen  hundred  years  of  mis- 
rule have  made  it  half  a  desert.  The  desert  sands,  re- 
leased from  the  barriers  set  up  against  them,  have  assailed 
the  ruins  of  its  cities  and  widened,  beneath  the  unchang- 
ing clarity  of  its  sky,  the  pathos  of  its  desolation.  Then 
it  was  a  region  of  grain-fields  and  olive  trees,  densely 
populated  and  using  the  assured  peace  of  the  empire  for 
its  idleness  and  its  lust — its  sunny  and  careless  life 
touched  as  yet  but  lightly  by  the  misfortunes  of  the 
lands  north  of  the  Mediterranean.  With  the  coming  of 
Christianity,  finer  and  purer  forces  had  begun  to  make 
headway  against  its  corruptions  and  superstitions. 
Augustine's  mother  is  a  witness  that  the  new  faith  was 
rich  in  transforming  and  redeeming  power,  and  the  strife 
of  Augustine's  soul  is  but  the  operation  within  the  limits 
of  his  great  and  stormy  personality  of  a  strife  which  was 
being  waged  along  all  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Augustine's  life  falls  easily  into  well  marked  periods  : 
he  is  a  schoolboy  and  a  student  in  the  schools  of  Tha- 
gaste  and  Carthage,   he  is  disciple  of  the  Manicheans, 


68        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

teacher  of  rhetoric  in  Carthage,  he  is  professor  of  rhet- 
oric, Platonist,  friend  and  disciple  of  Ambrose,  a  vvres- 
thng  spirit,  and  a  twice-born  man  at  Milan,  he  is  the 
first  of  the  Augustinian  monks  at  Thagaste,  he  is  bishop  of 
Hippo,  and  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,  he  is  the  inex- 
orable enemy  of  the  Donatists,  and  the  none  the  less  in- 
exorable foe  of  Pelagius.  He  hved  to  see  the  vandal 
purge  Africa  as  with  fire,  sweeping  out  its  hoarded  un- 
righteousness with  the  besom  of  destruction,  and  to  die 
in  the  seventy-sixth  year  of  his  age  while  Hippo  was  in 
a  state  of  seige.  So  he  became  the  common  possession 
of  the  Christian  Church  and  launched  influences  which 
have  remade  history. 

He  has  told  us  the  full  story  of  his  inner  life  until 
his  conversion  in  his  "  Confessions,"  and  that  record  has 
become  a  classic.  There  are  other  confessions  as  frank 
and  revealing,  other  revelations  which  belong,  through 
perfect  literary  form,  to  the  rare  fellowship  of  deathless 
books,  but  there  are  no  confessions  so  saturated  as  his 
with  the  sense  of  the  presence  of  God,  none  which 
breathe  so  true  a  devotion  or  disclose  so  flame-like  and 
aspiring  a  soul.  The  "Confessions"  of  Rousseau  have 
their  own  value  as  the  disclosure  of  a  strange  and 
baffling  inner  life,  shameless  in  its  mendacities  and  un- 
righteousnesses, and  yet  holding  fast  to  ideals  which  kin- 
dled the  fires  of  the  French  revolution.  The"  Memoirs  " 
of  Benvenuto  Cellini  are  such  a  key  to  the  stormy  con- 
tradictions of  the  Italian  Renaissance  as  we  shall  find  no- 
where else,  but  the  "  Confessions  "  of  St.  Augustine  show 
us  how  faults  may  be  blotted  out  with  repentant  tears, 
the  fires  of  the  clay  extinguished  by  the  consuming 
fires  of  the  spirit,  and  the  restless  soul  find  its  rest  in 
God. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    69 

They  are,  more  than  any  document  of  which  v/e  have 
knowledge,  the  story  of  the  birth  of  a  soul.  They  show 
us  by  what  forces,  in  what  intensities  and  with  what  in- 
ner travail  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  laid  hold  of  the  old 
pagan  order,  recast  it  and  passed  it  through  fires  which 
changed  its  very  interior  constitution.  They  lay  bare  for 
us  the  bases  upon  which  the  new  order  was  established, 
and  help  us  to  understand,  if  we  read  them  discriminat- 
ingly, how  the  rock  upon  which  the  Church  was  being 
built  was  really  a  metamorphic  rock  so  reborn  as  to 
have  become  wholly  new,  and  yet  burying  within  itself 
ineffaceable  records  of  its  past. 

A  threefold  charm — spiritual,  psychological,  and  liter- 
ary— attaches  to  the  *♦  Confessions."  There  is  probably 
need,  in  considering  them  critically,  that  Augustine  be 
saved  from  himself.  They  were  written  almost  fifty 
years  after  his  boyhood,  and  more  than  twenty  years 
after  his  conversion,  when  his  theological  presuppositions 
had  mightily  coloured  his  interpretations  of  life  and  when 
he  saw  all  his  past  in  the  light  of  the  conclusions  to 
which  his  controversy  with  Pelagius  had  driven  him.  It  is 
neither  Augustine  the  Platonist,  nor  Augustine  the 
Manichean,  nor  the  Augustine  who  leaned  with  his 
mother  over  the  window-casement  at  Ostia  who  wrote 
the  "  Confessions  "  ;  it  was  Augustine  of  the  Augustinian 
theology.  So  he  searches  the  very  restlessness  of  his 
babyhood  for  evidences  of  original  sin  and  finds  in  the 
protests  of  an  infant  crying  in  the  night  the  signs  of 
total  depravity.  He  does  not  allow  enough  for  the  un- 
moral give  and  take  of  undisciplined  youth.  If  the  boy 
is  not  a  saint,  then  he  must  needs  be  a  hopeless  sinner. 
It  is,  therefore,  a  fair  question  whether  he  was  as  bad  as  he 
would  have  us  believe  or  whether  he  dealt  justly  and  dis- 


70        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

criminatingly  with  all  the  doings  of  his  youth.  This 
is  not  to  say  that  there  were  not  things  which  were 
bad  enough  and  for  which  he  gives  line  and  date,  but 
it  is  to  say  that  he  criticizes  his  own  boyhood  by  stand- 
ards to  which  no  boyhood  ought  to  be  subjected.  He 
pretended,  he  confesses  himself,  to  have  been  worse  than 
he  was  in  order  properly  to  impress  his  boyhood  friends, 
whose  standards  were  disreputable  enough.  It  is  more 
than  likely  that  the  need  of  living  up  to  the  standards  of 
the  Augustinian  theology  insensibly  biassed  his  memories 
and  interpretations  of  his  own  past. 

.'  The  Augustine  who  wrote  the  "  Confessions"  believed 
that  to  the  last  letter  every  man's  life  is  a  plan  of  God. 
He  sought,  therefore,  to  discern  in  his  own  life  the  un- 
foldings  of  the  divine  plan.  He  interprets  the  happen- 
ings of  each  passing  day  in  the  light  of  the  whole  out- 
come of  his  life,  and  discovers  the  ways  of  God  with  man 
where  we  discover  only  the  play  of  undisciplined  human 
nature.  He  uses  himself,  therefore,  doubly  by  way  of 
illustration  ;  he  is  his  own  best  example  of  the  depravity 
of  the  unregenerate,  and  his  own  best  example  of  the 
guiding  providence  of  God.  We  shall  see  in  the  end  how 
unconsciously  he  reverses  the  logical  connection  of  life 
and  doctrine.  True  enough,  he  interprets  his  experiences 
by  his  doctrines  and  reads  into  them  weightier  meanings 
than  they  would  otherwise  bear,  but  his  •'  Confessions*' 
help  us  to  understand  at  the  same  time  how  his  doctrines 
were  rooted  in  his  life  and  how  he  coloured  all  his  concep- 
tions of  humanity  and  humanity's  God  by  the  unfoldings 
of  his  own  spirit,  the  stress  of  his  own  passions,  the 
urgency  of  his  own  restlessness,  and  the  secret  of  his 
own  peace. 

He  seems  after  all  to  have  been  a  pretty  human  sort  of 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    71 

boy.  American  schoolboys  are  not  wanting  in  the 
quahties  which  he  discloses.  Other  boys  have  hated 
their  lessons  and  loved  their  play,  have  taken  unkindly 
to  corporal  punishment,  and  have  discovered  all  too 
evident  inconsistencies  in  the  lives  of  their  masters  and 
their  elders.  They  have  worked  as  Augustine  worked, 
under  compulsion,  and  they  have  been  fortunate  if  they 
found  out  as  Augustine  found  out,  that  in  this  also  God 
is  good.  He  is  not  alone  in  having  hated  Greek  gram- 
mar, nor  indeed,  one  may  hope,  in  having  loved  Latin, 
although  had  he  added  to  the  tale  of  his  failings  the 
hatred  of  Latin  also,  he  would  still  find  too  large  a  follow- 
ing. In  his  later  meditations  upon  the  method  and  course 
of  his  schooling,  we  have  a  clear  light  upon  the  real  dif- 
ficulties which  the  Christians  found  in  the  education  of 
their  children.  They  had  no  secular  literature  but  the 
Greek  and  Latin  classics.  Sons  of  women  Hke  Monica 
were  taught  the  legends  of  the  gods  by  men  to  whom  the 
gods  themselves  were  more  than  fiction.  The  legends 
were  far  from  edifying  and  the  influences  such,  to  quote 
Augustine,  "  as  even  they  scarcely  ever  pass  who  climb 
the  Cross."  The  growing  feeling  of  the  Church  that 
children  could  not  be  fittingly  educated  upon  pagan 
literature  led  to  the  attempt  to  create  an  essentially  Chris- 
tian literature  in  which  old  forms  were  to  be  filled  with 
new  meanings  and  the  moving  cadences  of  classic  speech 
made  the  vehicle  of  Christian  teaching.  The  results  of 
such  endeavours  were  none  too  successful.  The  soil  from 
which  a  literature  springs  must  be  deepened  by  the  ex- 
periences, the  expectations,  the  meditations  of  the  gen- 
erations. It  was  to  be  almost  a  thousand  years  before 
a  literature  adequately  representing  the  real  creative 
power  of  a  Christian  civilization  would  begin  to  take  form. 


72        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

The  work  of  Commodianus,  Saint  Paulinus  and  Pru- 
dentius  had  its  prophetic  value,  but  as  a  substitute  for  the 
classics  it  left  much  to  seek. 

At  the  very  end  of  these  meditations  upon  his  boyhood 
Augustine  reflects  that  men  keep  with  care  the  rules  of 
grammar,  but  neglect  the  eternal  laws  of  lasting  salvation. 
♦'  In  quest  of  the  fame  of  eloquence,  a  man  standing  be- 
fore a  human  judge,  surrounded  by  a  human  throng, 
declaiming  against  his  enemy  with  fiercest  hatred,  will 
take  heed  most  watchfully,  lest,  by  an  error  of  the  tongue, 
he  murder  the  word  *  human-being  ' ;  but  takes  no  heed, 
lest,  through  the  fury  of  his  spirit,  he  murder  the  real 
human  being."  *  Here  also,  in  clear  and  searching  words, 
he  portrays  the  continuity  of  life  and  finds  the  roots  of 
outstanding  and  dramatic  faults  of  our  mature  manhood 
deep  in  the  slighter  sins  of  youth.  *♦  For  these  very  sins, 
as  riper  years  succeed,  these  very  sins  are  transferred 
from  tutors  and  masters,  from  nuts  and  balls  and  sparrows, 
to  magistrates  and  kings,  to  gold  and  manors  and  slaves, 
just  as  severer  punishments  displace  the  cane.  It  was  the 
low  stature  then  of  childhood,  which  Thou  our  King 
didst  commend  as  an  emblem  of  lowliness,  when  Thou 
saidst,  '  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  "  ^  He  does 
not  find,  however,  that  this,  his  dawning  morning,  was 
always  wanting  in  the  real  light.  Vague  and  half-felt 
longings  stirred  within  him.  •'  For  even  then  I  was,  I 
lived,  and  felt ;  and  had  an  implanted  providence  over  my 
own  well-being, — a  trace  of  that  mysterious  Unity,  whence 
I  was  derived  ; — I  guarded  by  the  inward  sense  the  entire- 
ness  of  my  senses,  and  in  these  minute  pursuits,  and  in  my 
thoughts  on  things  minute,  I  learnt  to  delight  in  truth,  I 
hated  to  be  deceived,  had  a  vigorous  memory,  was  gifted 

^  Book  I,  Chapter  xviii.  '  Book  I,  Chapter  xviii. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    73 

with  speech,  was  soothed  by  friendship,  avoided  pain, 
baseness,  ignorance."  * 

With  the  increase  of  years  came  the  growth  ofun- 
discipHned  restlessness.  Monica's  admonitions  to  her  son 
show  the  attitude  of  even  a  saintly  soul  towards  the 
possible  waywardnesses  of  youth.  It  is  still  an  open 
question,  however,  how  far  Augustine  shared  the  faults 
and  follies  of  his  comrades  or  sinned  against  the  integrity 
of  his  soul.  The  theft  of  the  pears — one  of  the  classical 
instances  of  the  "  Confessions  " — was  doubtless  bad  enough, 
but  it  is  not  the  only  instance  of  such  doings  on  the  part  of 
boys,  and  its  real  interest  is  not  that  it  proves  the  de- 
pravity of  Augustine,  but  that  it  rather  offers  him  an 
opportunity  for  edifying  reflections  upon  the  perversity  of 
human  nature.  The  saint  says  it  was  "  sin  which  sweet- 
ened the  pears  "  ;  it  is  barely  possible  that  the  darkness, 
the  comradeship,  and  the  adventure  also  heightened  their 
flavour.  However  that  may  be,  the  loss  of  the  pears  has 
been  more  than  paid  for  by  those  searching  and  intro- 
spective chapters  in  which  long  afterwards  a  man,  burdened 
with  many  cares  and  grown  stern  before  his  time  and  sad, 
sought  to  disentangle  the  roots  of  his  boyish  restlessness 
and  to  discover  there  also  the  healing  and  the  compassion 
of  God.     Few  trees  have  borne  so  rich  a  fruit. 

Augustine's  experiences  in  Carthage — his  university 
life,  that  is — marked  the  beginning  of  his  searching 
after  truth.  He  found  there  no  moral  help  in,  nor  any 
diminution  of  temptation.  Of  all  the  cities  of  that 
ancient  world,  open  beneath  the  skies,  Carthage  was 
probably  the  most  sadly  corrupt.  Augustine  rejoiced  in 
its  colour,  its  movements,  its  fevered  and  tumultuous  life; 
its  spectacles  laid  hold  of  him  and  he  gave  himself  to  the 

*  Book  I,  Chapter  xviii. 


74        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

allurements  of  the  city  as  men  have  done  before  and 
since.  One  reads  not  only  between  the  lines,  but  in  the 
hnes  themselves,  that  he  was  winning  honour  in  the 
university  world  and  was  chief  in  the  rhetoric  school, 
'•  whereat  I  joyed  proudly,  and  I  swelled  with  arrogancy, 
though  (Lord,  Thou  knowest)  far  quieter  than  those 
among  whom  I  lived,"  *  and  yet,  strangely  enough,  with 
a  shameless  shame  that  he  was  not  even  as  they. 

The  Hortensius  of  Cicero  first  recalled  his  mind  to 
philosophy,  to  God,  and  to  a  better  way  of  thought.  He 
had  never,  he  was  persuaded,  wholly  ceased  to  be  a 
seeker  after  God.  We  may  well  assent  to  this  and 
equally  doubt  whether  even  the  reading  of  Hortensius 
changed  him  so  utterly  as  he  seemed,  in  after  years,  to 
believe.  None  the  less  it  stirred  into  flame  longings  and 
intensities  of  nature  which  were  in  the  way  of  being 
smothered,  and  the  fires  thus  lighted  within  him  held  until 
the  dross  was  burnt  away.  Once  committed  to  the 
classical  philosophy,  he  found  the  Holy  Scriptures  want- 
ing in  simplicity  and  showing  ill  in  comparison  with 
Tully's  stateliness,  so  he  put  them  by  and  committed 
himself  to  courses  of  speculation  which  were  to  lead  him 
far  afield  before  at  last  the  truth  should  make  him  free. 

He  became  a  Manichean.  Now  the  origins  of  the 
Manichean  cult  are  obscure.  Without  any  doubt,  they 
take  us  back  to  Persia,  and  the  cult  itself  is  one  more  of 
the  endless  attempts  of  men  to  reconcile  a  stained  and 
restless  world  with  the  stainlessness  and  the  peace  of 
God,  and  to  account  for  the  origin  of  evil.  The  Mani- 
chean cut  the  knot  by  dividing  the  empire.  There  are. 
he  said,  two  worlds,  one  of  light  and  one  of  darkness ; 
two  Gods,  one  of  goodness  and  one  of  evil.     We  our- 

*  Book  III,  Chapter  iii. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    75 

selves  supply  the  battle-ground  upon  which  these  eter- 
nally hostile  elements  fight  for  dominion.  So  our  lives 
are  interwoven  of  good  and  evil,  so  our  destinies  are 
mingled  light  and  shadow,  so  the  strife  of  contending 
forces  fills  our  souls.  In  the  thought  of  the  Manichean, 
God  was  too  good  to  have  any  contact  with  an  evil 
world,  too  holy  to  be  responsible,  either  directly  or  in- 
directly, for  its  existence.  Such  a  way  of  thinking  saved 
the  goodness  of  God,  but  robbed  life  of  His  redemptive 
participation.  It  vindicated  Him  at  the  expense  of  His 
children.  As  nearly  as  one  can  make  out,  Augustine's 
conception  of  God,  and  indeed  of  spiritual  existence 
generally,  was  subtly  materialistic,  and  it  was  not  until 
he  came  to  apprehend  the  true  nature  of  the  spiritual  that 
he  disentangled  himself  from  the  Manichean  heresy. 

The  total  separation  of  these  two  contending  forces 
and  the  consequent  dismissal  of  the  whole  realm  of 
matter  to  the  dominion  of  darkness  and  of  evil  resulted 
among  the  Manicheans  themselves  in  contradictory  sys- 
tems of  morality.  There  were  those  who  said  that  since 
matter  belonged  to  one  kingdom  and  spirit  to  another, 
and  since  by  no  possibility  could  there  be  any  passing 
and  repassing  between  these  kingdoms,  whatever  went 
on  in  the  realm  of  the  flesh  made  no  difference  in  the 
realm  of  the  soul.  So  the  men  and  women  who  said 
this  gave  themselves  over  to  lawless  lives,  excusing 
themselves  in  that  no  contamination  of  the  clay  could 
defile  the  spirit.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  those 
who  said  that  the  body  belonged  to  the  realm  of  dark- 
ness and  should  be  ignored  and  denied  by  all  true 
soldiers  of  the  light.  Here,  therefore,  was  a  ground  for 
asceticism.  Many  of  the  Manichees  did  become  ascetics, 
all  the  nobler  and  finer-minded  of  them,  and  their  moral- 


76        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

ity  suffered  no  loss  in  the  comparison  with  the  common 
morality  of  their  Christian  neighbours. 

Both  these  tendencies  influenced  Augustine.  He  was 
never  content  in  unascetic  ideals;  he  was  wanting  in 
moral  power  to  make  ascetic  ideals  supreme.  So  some- 
thing of  the  moral  contradiction  which  marked  the  ethics 
of  the  Manichees  filled  his  own  soul  with  its  strife.  In 
his  reaction  against  Manicheanism  he  reacted  strongly 
against  all  its  works,  and  later  accused  it  of  a  thorough- 
going immorality.  He  was  not  on  the  whole  able  to 
make  his  accusations  good,  and  for  our  estimate  of  the 
moral  worth  of  the  whole  system  we  must  turn  to  other 
sources.  It  is  enough  to  say  here  that  Augustine  found 
peace  neither  in  its  morals  nor  its  speculations.  It  was 
impossible  that  he  should.  The  spirit  of  God  within 
him  was  urging  him  to  a  goodness  complete  in  its  sacri- 
fice, and  his  really  profound  spiritual  vision  would  never 
let  him  rest  in  any  solution  of  the  problem  of  evil  so 
superficial  as  that  to  which  he  had  for  a  little  committed 
himself.  We  shall  not  vindicate  the  holiness  of  God  by 
setting  Him  apart  from  all  that  is  deepest,  most  involved, 
and  most  difficult  in  His  creation.  The  justification  of 
His  righteousness  is  to  be  sought,  not  in  a  world  wholly 
free  from  every  contamination  of  evil  or  of  darkness,  but 
in  the  redemptive  processes  by  which  He  meets  the 
darkness  and  the  evil  of  the  world,  subdues  them,  saves 
and  reenforces  all  those  who  fight  against  them,  and  so 
justifies  the  divine  courage  which  made  men  free,  even 
though  the  possibility  of  sin — nay,  the  moral  certainty 
of  it — waited  upon  their  freedom.  Augustine  himself 
did  much  to  teach  Western  Europe  this  nobler  way  of 
thinking,  and  more  still  to  release  by  his  teaching  and 
his  life   forces  which  mightily  supported  and  heartened 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     jj 

men  in  their  stuggle.  He  never,  even  in  the  full  devel- 
opment of  his  system,  clearly  conceived  all  the  implica- 
tion of  the  problem  of  sin,  and  the  solutions  which  his 
system  have  offered  have,  on  one  side  at  least,  been  sadly 
wanting.  None  the  less  the  tremendous  moral  earnest- 
ness which  Augustinianism  has  always  fostered  has  been 
something  far  better  than  a  speculative  solution  of  a 
great  and  vexed  problem, — it  has  been  a  fire  for  right- 
eousness and  a  keen-edged  and  prevailing  sword  against 
evil,  a  road  by  which  men  and  nations  have  come  into 
holiness,  a  force  in  which  the  redeeming  and  transform- 
ing power  of  God  has  mightily  realized  itself.  The  real 
solution  of  the  problem  of  evil  is  always  and  everywhere 
to  be  sought  in  effective  goodness,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  overestimate  the  contribution  of  Augustine  to  that 
solution.  Without  doubt,  then,  his  Manichean  experi- 
ence had  a  real  value  in  the  making  of  the  man.  He 
was  never  one  to  discard  the  greater  for  the  less.  The 
very  inadequacy  of  the  answers  which  Manicheanism 
offered  to  the  questions  about  which  he  was  always 
puzzling,  drove  him  to  deeper  and  more  vital  solutions. 
It  is  by  such  stairs  as  these  that  men  climb  towards  the 
light. 

Augustine's  derelictions  burdened  his  mother  sorely. 
The  salvation  of  her  son  was  much  upon  her  heart.  She 
was,  as  Augustine  is  firmly  persuaded,  crying  much  to 
God  for  her  wayward  son,  heard  and  answered  in  a 
dream.  "  For  she  saw  herself  standing  on  a  certain 
wooden  rule,  and  a  shining  youth  coming  towards  her, 
cheerful  and  smiling  upon  her,  herself  grieving,  and  over- 
whelmed with  grief.  But  he  having  (in  order  to  instruct, 
as  is  their  wont,  not  to  be  instructed)  inquired  of  her  the 
causes   of  her  grief  and  daily  tears,  and  she  answering 


78       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

that  she  was  bewailing  my  perdition,  he  bade  her  rest 
contented,  and  told  her  to  look  and  observe,  '  That 
where  she  was,  there  was  I  also/  And  when  she  looked, 
she  saw  me  standing  by  her  in  the  same  rule.  Whence 
was  this,  but  that  Thine  ears  were  towards  her  heart  ? 
O  Thou  Good  omnipotent,  who  so  carest  for  every  one  of 
us,  as  if  Thou  caredst  for  him  only  ;  and  so  for  all,  as  if 
they  were  but  one  !  "  *  Augustine  sought  to  persuade 
her  by  his  sophistries  that  the  dream  meant  that  she 
should  come  to  him,  but  she  held  fast  in  her  simpler  faith 
and  summoned  her  son  in  anticipation  to  those  heights  of 
spiritual  experience  which  she  herself  occupied. 

The  ten  years  which  followed  are  troubled  and  rest- 
less. Augustine,  himself  a  Manichean,  seduces  others 
to  the  same  heresy,  though  with  no  sure  and  unclouded 
conviction  of  his  own.  One  wonders  if  he  sought  in 
such  ways  to  establish  himself  more  firmly  in  a  faith 
which  drew  him,  but  did  not  give  him  peace.  He  never 
fell  into  its  grosser  errors  and  superstitions,  although  he 
does  confess  to  some  consulting  of  astrology.  For  a 
livelihood  he  taught  rhetoric,  and  that  with  power  and 
success.  Now  there  came  to  him  a  great  sorrow  in  the 
death  of  one  of  his  oldest  and  truest  friends — a  man  who 
had  been  playfellow  and  schoolfellow  to  him.  This 
friend  in  a  desperate  illness  had  been  baptized,  although 
unconscious.  When  Augustine  sought,  upon  his  partial 
recovery,  to  jest  with  him  about  that  baptism,  he  found 
himself  dealing  with  a  changed  soul.  But  their  estrange- 
ment was  not  for  long ;  the  fever  returned  and  his  friend 
departed.  The  shadow  of  that  sorrow  fell  darkly  upon 
Augustine's  undisciplined  spirit.  His  native  country  was 
a  torment,  his  father's  house  a  strange  unhappiness,  and 

^  Book  III,  Chapter  xi. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    79 

whatever  they  two  had  shared  became  a  distracting  tor- 
ture. His  eyes  sought  his  friend  everywhere  and  he 
hated  all  places  for  that  they  had  him  not. 

*'  I  wander,  often  falling  lame, 

And  looking  back,  to  whence  I  came 
Or  on  to  where  the  pathway  leads  ; 

**And  crying,  How  changed  from  when  it  ran 
Thro'  lands  where  not  a  leaf  was  dumb, 
But  all  the  lavish  hills  would  hum 

The  murmur  of  a  happy  Pan." 

Only  tears  were  sweet  to  him,  for  they  succeeded  his 
friend  in  the  dearest  of  his  affections.  The  meditations 
in  which  Augustine  renews  the  memories  of  his  sorrow, 
dwells  in  reminiscence  upon  all  that  he  had  suffered,  and 
relates  the  movements  of  his  perturbed  spirit,  have  strange 
and  haunting  suggestions  of  the  early  Cantos  of  "  In 
Memoriam."  They  are  the  revelation  of  another  sorrow 
**  treasuring  the  look  it  cannot  find,  the  words  that  are 
not  heard  again,"  and  there  are  (e\v  passages  in  any 
literature  which  so  clearly  declare  the  bitterness  of  love 
without  any  hope  of  immortality  as  those  wherein  Augus- 
tine declares  that  he  was  loath  to  Hve  since  he  must  live 
a  divided  soul  and  feared  to  die  lest  he  whom  he  had  so 
much  loved  should  die  wholly.  "  Well  said  one  of  his 
friend,  *  Thou  half  of  my  soul ; '  for  I  felt  that  my  soul 
and  his  soul  were  '  one  soul  in  two  bodies  ! '  and  there- 
fore was  my  life  a  horror  to  me,  because  I  would  not  live 
halved.  And  therefore  perchance  I  feared  to  die,  lest  he 
whom  I  had  much  loved,  should  die  wholly."  '  His  grief 
yielded  finally  to  time  and  to  the  consolation  of  friends, 
but  the  whole  experience  left  Augustine  a  changed  man. 
^  Book  IV,  Chapter  vi. 


8o       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

He  was  to  come  to  see  in  the  end  that  God  is  the  keeper 
of  all  friendships  and  that  he  alone  loses  none  dear  to 
him  to  whom  all  are  dear  in  Him  who  cannot  be  lost. 

He  now  begins  a  long  career  in  book-writing  which 
was  to  close  only  with  his  death.  There  have  been  few 
more  fertile  and  productive  minds,  and  one  stands  a  good 
bit  staggered  before  his  immense  literary  output.  We 
are  to  remember,  however,  that  the  secret  is  not  far  to 
seek  : — in  Augustine's  later  life  a  shorthand  reporter  with 
ever-ready  tablets  was  his  constant  companion.  When- 
ever the  master  sat  down  to  talk  with  his  friends,  out 
came  the  tablets  and  down  went  the  precious  words. 
Book-making  upon  such  terms  was  easy,  especially  as 
publishers  were  not  critical  and  one's  public  constantly 
receptive.  Just  how  all  this  prodigious  book-making 
was  financed,  the  records  do  not  show.  Augustine's  first 
book  was  upon  "  The  Fair  and  Fit."  It  grew  out  of  his 
meditations  upon  the  origin  of  love  and  the  attractions 
exercised  by  grace  and  beauty.  "  Do  we,"  he  said  when 
he  had  finally  come  to  the  place  where  he  was  able  to 
think  calmly  not  only  of  the  love  he  had  borne  his 
friend,  but  of  love  generally,  •'  Do  we  love  anything  but 
the  beautiful  ?  What  then  is  the  beautiful  ?  and  what  is 
beauty  ?  What  is  it  that  attracts  and  wins  us  to  the 
thing  we  love  ?  "  *  These  considerations  coming  to  his 
mind,  he  wrote  out  of  his  inmost  heart  on  •*  The  Fair  and 
Fit "  he  does  not  remember  how  many  books,  he  thinks 
two  or  three.  He  refers  the  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
number  to  the  Lord  with  a  serene  confidence,  not  always 
possessed  by  authors  of  a  later  time,  that  his  book-making 
had  been  taken  account  of  in  heaven.  **  Thou  knowest, 
O  Lord,"  he  says,  with  a  devotional  familiarity  which 
»  Book  IV,  Chapter  xiii. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    8i 

comes  tremendously  near  being  an  excess  of  ease  in 
Zion.  It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  considerations  which 
Augustine  urged  in  this  the  first  of  his  books  to  the  stern 
temper  of  the  man  who  wrote  against  Pelagius,  and  yet, 
as  we  shall  see  when  we  come  to  consider  the  influence  of 
Platonism  upon  Augustine's  spiritual  development,  the 
whole  thing  is  of  a  piece.  There  is  a  real  and  intimate 
relation  between  his  passion  for  beauty  and  truth  and  that 
full  deep  consciousness  of  God  which  later  closes  upon 
him  hke  the  sea,  only  to  bear  him  up  into  high  and  holy 
intimacies.  The  man  who  was  to  find  the  key  to  Saul  of 
Tarsus  in  Plato  found  in  all  beauty  the  beginnings  of  the 
road  which  lead  to  God.  This  is  never  to  be  forgotten  ;  it 
helps  us  to  understand  the  truer  and  finer  part  of  him  and 
to  disentangle  his  radiant  spiritual  communings  with  a 
God  whom  he  had  found  as  he  followed  the  roads  of 
longing  and  of  light,  from  those  later  theological  inter- 
pretations of  that  same  God  which  encompassed  Him  with 
clouds  and  with  the  thick  darkness  of  arbitrary  provi- 
dences. 

He  wrote  his  first  book  in  his  twenty-sixth  or  twenty- 
seventh  year,  nor  was  he  then  free  from  corporeal  fic- 
tions, nor  had  he  then  come  to  see  that  God  was  a  spirit. 
He  was  early  influenced  also  by  Aristotle.  He  remem- 
bers in  the  "  Confessions  "  with  a  kind  of  a  humble  pride 
that  whatever  was  written  either  on  rhetoric  or  logic, 
geometry,  music  and  arithmetic,  "  by  himself  and  without 
much  difficulty  or  any  instructors  he  understood."  He 
never,  however,  entered  into  the  real  spirit  of  Aristotle. 
His  ruling  ideas  belong  to  another  realm,  and  of  the  two 
great  Greeks  he  was  to  be  really  influenced  and  shaped 
by  Plato. 

The  chapters  which  record  these  experiences  disclose 


82        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

also  his  real  conception  of  God,  whom  he  then  thought 
of  as  a  vast  and  bright  body,  and  he  a  fragment  of  that 
body.  He  is  now  hard  upon  his  deliverance  from  his 
Manichean  bondage.  He  analyzes  at  great  length  and 
with  his  involved  acuteness  all  the  movements  of  his 
mind  and  soul  during  this  period  of  emancipation.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  Manicheanism  was  neither  big  enough 
nor  true  enough  for  the  vast  and  searching  action  of  a 
mind  like  Augustine's.  One  by  one  he  discards  or  chal- 
lenges its  errors,  and  yet  with  a  sort  of  pathetic  longing 
to  be  established  and  satisfied.  He  kept  waiting  for  a 
great  teacher  much  spoken  of  by  the  Manicheans  who 
should  answer  all  his  questions,  satisfy  all  his  doubts,  but 
when  he  had  heard  Faustus  and  all  that  Faustus  could 
offer,  he  shook  himself  clear  of  the  whole  system  and  be- 
took himself  to  Rome.  Once  done  with  Manicheanism  he 
criticizes  it  with  that  bitterness  which  we  always  show 
towards  the  creeds  we  have  discarded,  and  it  is  not  at  all 
unlikely  that  he  bears  too  hard  upon  the  followers  of  the 
faith  he  had  cast  one  side.  True  enough,  they  were 
neither  very  wise  nor  far-seeing,  but  the  best  of  them 
were  better  morally  than  he  allows.  It  is  more  than 
likely  that  a  desire  wholly  to  free  himself  from  relation- 
ships which  suggested  either  bitterness  or  sorrow  turned 
him  towards  Rome,  but  he  was  moved  to  go  there  on 
his  own  account,  because  of  the  higher  quality  of  the 
university  discipline.  Discipline  must  have  been  sorely 
wanting  in  the  university  of  Carthage;  the  students 
rushed  into  their  classrooms  tumultuously  and  left  them 
just  as  tumultuously;  their  noise  and  lawlessness  sadly 
disturbed  their  truth-seeking  teacher  who  wanted  only  to 
discourse  upon  "  The  Fair  and  Fit,"  and  recover  the  in- 
tegrity of  his  soul. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     83 

He  was  sadly  unfilial  in  his  leaving.  He  lied  to  his 
mother  and  left  her  behind  weeping,  having  persuaded 
her,  upon  the  pretense  that  he  had  a  friend  whom  he 
could  not  leave  until  a  fair  wind  arose,  to  spend  the 
night  of  his  sailing  at  an  oratory  in  memory  of  the 
blessed  Cyprian.  Nothing  in  the  "  Confessions "  does 
Augustine  more  credit  than  the  chapters  in  which  he 
confesses  how  unworthy  all  this  was.  In  such  sad  self- 
condemnation  he  ranges  himself  alongside  Samuel  John- 
son and  Thomas  Carlyle.  But  even  here,  he  is  persuaded, 
he  and  his  mother  were  being  led  in  ways  they  knew  not 
of;  the  very  prayers  which  she  put  up  that  night  for  her 
wayward  and  deceitful  son  were  to  be  answered  through  the 
overruling  of  God  in  the  very  enterprise  which  had  been 
so  falsely  undertaken.  At  any  rate,  his  mother's  prayers 
were  not  interrupted;  she  betook  herself  again  to  inter- 
cede for  him  in  her  wonted  places,  and  with  the  assurance 
that  this  son  of  so  many  prayers  could  not  be  lost. 

He  was  received  at  Rome  with  the  scourge  of  bodily 
sickness,  and  near  went  down  to  hell,  as  he  says  plainly 
enough,  carrying  all  his  sins  with  him.  Even  then  he 
did  not  desire  baptism.  He  recovered  from  what  must 
have  been  a  pretty  severe  attack  of  Roman  fever,  and 
went  about  his  work,  to  find  to  his  discomfiture  the  stu- 
dents of  the  universities  of  Rome  as  wanting  in  honesty 
as  the  undergraduates  of  the  university  of  Carthage  had 
been  wanting  in  manners.  They  had  a  disconcerting 
fashion  of  leaving  one  master  and  betaking  themselves  to 
another  just  as  their  term  bills  came  due,  and  all  Augus- 
tine's meditations  about  filthy  lucre  and  the  fleeting  world 
cannot  conceal  the  fact  that  he  found  this  practice  incon- 
venient and  discouraging. 

He   made   application   for   the   position    of  Rhetoric 


84        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Reader  in  the  city  of  Milan  and,  one  reads  between  the 
lines,  the  position  did  not  lose  in  his  estimation  be- 
cause he  was  to  be  paid  at  the  public  expense.  Then 
as  now,  the  public  treasury  had  its  attractions  even  for  a 
saint  in  the  making.  At  Milan  he  came  directly  under 
the  influence  of  Ambrose,  and  entered  the  last  phase  in 
the  winning  of  his  soul.  The  house  of  his  faith  had  been 
swept  and  garnished  after  leaving  the  Manicheans,  but  he 
still  retained  low  opinions  of  God  and  sin  and  the  incar- 
nation ;  no  great  positive  and  satisfying  faith  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  errors  which  he  had  discarded.  We  be- 
hold him,  then,  a  man  in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers, 
a  great  and  restless  mind,  an  equally  great  and  restless 
soul, — hungering  and  thirsting  after  the  truth — disciplined 
and  humbled,  ready  to  be  led  and  taught.  One  needs  to 
add  that  his  mother  had  come  to  join  him  in  Milan. 
Here  also  he  brought  the  woman  to  whom  for  a  long 
term  of  years  he  had  been  faithful,  though  not  in  wed- 
lock, and  his  son  Adeodatus — the  God-given  one. 

Two  processes — one  mental,  one  moral — now  mark 
Augustine's  development.  Under  Ambrose's  teaching 
he  became  a  catechumen  of  the  Catholic  Church,  to 
which  he  had  been  commended  by  his  parents,  till  some- 
thing certain  might  dawn  upon  him  whither  he  might 
steer  his  course.  It  was  in  the  moral  region  that  the 
more  searching  travail  now  began.  He  would  be  con- 
tent, such  was  the  intensity  of  his  nature,  with  nothing 
less  than  a  complete  surrender,  and  such  surrender  meant, 
as  he  conceived  it,  the  utter  denial  of  all  the  longings  of 
the  clay,  the  complete  surrender  of  the  affections  and  re- 
lationships of  marriage.  Augustine's  recital  of  the  for- 
tunes of  the  battle  to  which  he  was  committed,  though 
written  almost  a  generation  after  the  fight  had  been  won, 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    85 

lends  to  the  pages  of  the  "  Confessions "  a  great  and 
moving  passion. 

Monica  as  well  came  under  the  spell  of  the  Bishop  of 
Milan.  Upon  his  prohibition  she  discontinued  her  habit 
of  commemorating  martyrs,  the  fashion  of  said  commemo- 
ration having  apparently  been  to  carry  food  and  wine  to 
the  churches  on  the  saints'  days  and  at  each  church  to 
eat  and  drink  in  memory  of  the  departed.  Here  was 
a  custom  which  might  easily  lend  itself  to  excess,  and 
Monica  the  more  readily  surrendered  it  because  she  re- 
membered the  temptations  to  which  as  a  girl  she  had 
been  subjected.  She  substituted,  then,  for  her  basket,  a 
breast  filled  with  more  purified  petitions  and  so  bore  her- 
self as  to  win  for  Augustine  the  feHcitations  of  Ambrose, 
because  that  he,  Augustine,  possessed  such  a  mother ; 
**  not  knowing  what  a  son  she  had  in  me,  who  doubted 
of  all  these  things,  and  imagined  the  way  to  Hfe  could 
not  be  found  out." 

Augustine  now  began  to  see  new  meanings  in  the  law 
and  the  prophets.  Ambrose  taught  him  the  secret  of 
the  spiritual  interpretation  of  the  Bible,  a  method  which 
Augustine  himself  and  those  who  followed  him,  in  their 
loose  dealing  with  the  letter  of  Scripture  and  for  the 
sake  of  what  they  fancied  to  be  its  more  mystic  mean- 
ing, were  to  push  much  too  far.  Above  all  did  Augus- 
tine begin  to  discern  the  truer  significance  of  faith  and  to 
commit  himself  to  the  Unseen  and  the  Eternal  with  a 
deepening  confidence ;  he  came  in  the  end  to  a  sense  of 
the  presence  of  God  beside  which  all  else  seemed  but  the 
shadow  of  a  dream.  He  found  time  in  his  manifold 
activities  to  reform  Alypius,  his  friend,  who  was  overly 
fond  of  the  circus.  Alypius  was  not  indeed  greatly  to 
blame  for  this  unhappy  passion ;  being  dragged  by  his 


86       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

friends  at  Rome  upon  occasion  to  the  Colosseum,  he  had 
shut  his  eyes  upon  the  dreadful  spectacle,  but  opening 
them  at  the  shout  of  the  multitude  he  found  the  spectacle 
so  interesting  as  to  be  thereafter  quite  unable  to  close 
them.  As  medicine  for  this  he  was  falsely  taken  to  be  a 
thief,  and  was  in  the  way  of  being  more  seriously  dis- 
ciplined than  his  faults  deserved  when  a  rather  elemen- 
tary piece  of  detective  work  set  him  free.  The  same 
Alypius  had  always  looked  with  scorn  upon  marriage, 
but,  much  moved  by  the  fervent  discourses  of  Augustine 
as  to  the  desirabiUty  of  the  state,  he  himself  began  to 
desire  marriage  out  of  sheer  curiosity  to  find  out  what 
that  might  be  without  which  the  life  of  Augustine — to 
him,  Alypius,  so  pleasing — seemed  to  Augustine  himself 
but  a  punishment.  All  this  means  that  Augustine  him- 
self was  seriously  contemplating  marriage.  His  mother, 
he  professes,  was  the  moving  spirit  in  that  doubtful  en- 
terprise, but  however  that  may  be  a  maiden  was  found, 
two  years  under  age,  and,  as  pleasing  in  her  station  and 
possessions, "  was  waited  for."  This  engagement  carried 
with  it  readjustments  in  Augustine's  own  domestic  hfe 
which  reflect  on  the  whole  no  credit  on  the  Saint,  but  we 
must  remember  that  he  has  not  yet  come  fully  into  the  light. 
His  thirty-first  year  saw  his  intellectual  rebirth.  Little 
by  little,  but  unceasingly,  he  freed  himself  from  his  long- 
held  errors,  attained  a  deeper  and  more  spiritual  concep- 
tion of  God,  saw  that  the  freedom  of  the  will  is  the  cause 
of  evil — a  conclusion  which  he  was  later  to  put  one  side. 
He  did  not  at  this  time  clear  up  all  his  questionings 
about  the  origin  of  evil.  Indeed,  Augustine's  answers 
to  this  continuing  problem  have  never  been  wholly  satis- 
factory to  the  Church ;  one  wonders  whether  they  were 
ever  wholly  satisfactory  to   him.     He   was   nearer  the 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     ^j 

heart  of  the  whole  matter  in  his  affirmation  of  free  will 
than  he  afterwards  was  in  the  denial  of  it.  His  oppo- 
nents of  a  later  time  used  his  own  earlier  affirmation  of 
free  will  to  disconcert  him  sadly  in  his  strife  with  Pelagius. 

The  light  came  to  him  through  his  certainty  of  God. 
The  sense  of  the  love,  the  unchangeableness  and  the 
goodness  of  God  began  to  rise  upon  him  like  the  morn- 
ing. God  became  to  him  all  in  all.  We  need  constantly 
to  interpret  Augustine's  life  and  ministry  by  the  light  in 
which  he  himself  sought  the  meaning  not  only  of  his 
own  life,  but  of  life  always  and  everywhere.  Few  men 
have  held  such  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  reahty  and 
power  of  God  as  St.  Augustine.  His  most  unqualified 
affirmations  of  the  Divine  sovereignty  were  the  expres- 
sion of  convictions  deep-rooted  in  his  own  dearly  won 
experiences.  Nor  was  the  God  thus  exalted  dread  and 
unloving.  Tender  intimacy  breathes  through  every  line 
of  Augustine's  communion  with  his  Heavenly  Father. 
He  knows  Him  to  be  love ;  he  feels  Him  to  be  goodness, 
and  the  sovereignty  which  he  afterwards  exalted  and  af- 
firmed until  it  filled  earth  and  sky  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
human  freedom,  was,  as  he  himself  knew,  the  sovereignty 
of  the  tender,  the  loving,  the  compassionate  and  the  re- 
demptive. True  enough,  he  left  room  for  the  reading  of 
dread  quaHties  into  this  sovereign  power,  but  Augustine 
did  not  dread  God,  nor  was  his  God  a  God  to  be  dreaded. 

To  Jesus  Christ  he,  the  greatest  of  Latin  fathers,  came 
by  a  Greek  road ;  Plato  taught  him  the  meaning  of  the 
word  made  flesh.  We  shall  never  be  done  wondering 
how  the  great  Greek  has,  in  the  providence  of  God,  been 
made  a  road-builder  for  the  King.  In  after  years  Augus- 
tine rejoiced  that  he  had  gone  from  Plato  to  the  Holy 
Scriptures   instead   of  in  the  reverse  direction,  but  once 


88        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

he  approached  the  New  Testament,  with  that  key  in  his 
hand,  the  doors  began  to  fly  open,  for  he  saw  invisible 
things  understood  by  those  things  which  are  made.  His 
mental  emancipation  was  now  complete.  He  had  not 
yet  begun  his  work  of  theological  construction,  but  the 
great  elements  of  the  Christian  faith  were  free  and  fluid 
in  his  soul ;  he  had  come  into  the  hght.  God  was  more 
real  to  him  than  all  else,  and  God  was  loving  and  just. 
The  word  had  become  flesh  and  dwelt  among  us.  Sin 
and  all  its  consequences  were  rooted  in  man's  free  will. 
"  And  I  enquired  what  iniquity  was  and  found  it  to  be 
no  substance,  but  the  perversion  of  the  will  turned  aside 
from  Thee,  O  God,"  '  God  was  all  in  all,  and  yet  always 
free  from  any  responsibility  for  the  moral  wreckage  of 
the  world.  Augustine  had  only  to  have  gone  on  in  this 
direction,  meditating  more  deeply  on  the  meaning  and 
necessity  of  freedom,  to  have  found  the  true  key  to  the 
---.,,  of  sin  itself,  and  meditating  deeply  upon  the  re- 
passion  of  God  to  have  seen  in  what  way  God's 
.»  ies  were  to  be  achieved;  but  he  halted  upon 
these  111^*  e  radiant  thresholds  and  presently  took  himself 
to  darker  and  sterner  ways  of  thinking.  Very  likely  the 
necessities  of  the  time  and  his  own  temper  were  ever 
upon  him.  It  was  his  supreme  service,  after  all,  to  have 
been  the  deepener  of  the  life  of  the  spirit,  the  kindler  of 
moral  passion.  In  this  he  most  truly  served  his  time.  A 
new  world,  which  even  then  came  out  of  the  years  to 
meet  him,  needed  above  all  just  what  he  was  to  bring  it. 
Since  he  knew  God  as  few  have  ever  known  Him  he 
made  Him  Lord  through  lawless  and  restless  centuries  ; 
since,  at  whatever  cost  to  himself,  he  bowed  his  own  will 
to  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  will  of  God,  he  taught 

^  Book  VI,    Chapter  xvi. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     89 

discipline  to  the  rude  and  undisciplined ;  and  since, 
through  just  such  experiences  as  this,  inextinguishable 
fires  of  spiritual  passion  were  kindled  on  the  altars  of  his 
soul,  he  himself  became  the  communicator  of  a  like  pas- 
sion— the  torch-bearer  of  the  spirit  through  ages  which 
would  have  been  dark  without  him. 

Deeper  than  Augustine's  mental  struggle  after  the 
clear  vision  of  the  truth  were  his  wrestlings  with  the  ur- 
gencies of  the  clay  and  his  own  will.  He  could  be, 
as  I  have  said,  content  with  nothing  less  than  full  obe- 
dience to  the  full  counsels  of  perfection,  and  that  obe- 
dience was  not  easy  to  render.  It  is  hard  for  us  to  un- 
derstand why  he  could  not  have  been  contented  in  home 
and  marriage,  or  why  he  and  his  comrades  of  the  ascetic 
life  bowed  themselves  beneath  a  cross  whose  burden  was 
in  part  self-imposed.  I  shall  anticipate  that  upon  which 
we  shall  later  dwell  at  length,'  in  saying  that  the  com- 
plete self  surrender  which  men  of  his  type  yielded  at  such 
immense  cost  was  not  only  a  mighty  factor  in  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  Christian  Church — detaching  them  from  the 
great  relationships  of  life  in  order  to  attach  them  the 
more  unreservedly  to  its  service  and  its  sacrifice,  but  was 
also  a  necessary  stage  in  the  training  of  the  human  spirit. 
A  new  and  finer  conception  of  chastity  was  to  be  taught 
the  Christian  world  by  just  the  expression  of  a  consuming 
passion  for  chastity  which  burned  clean  at  a  great  cost 
the  lives  of  generations  of  men  and  women  crucifying 
themselves  for  an  ideal. 

The  "  Confessions  "  rise  to  great  altitudes  of  searching 
self-revelation,  of  contrition,  strife  and  aspiration  as 
Augustine  discloses  this  final  travail  of  his  soul.  He 
sought  counsel  from  many  sources.     He  was  taught  of 

*  See  the  chapter  on  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ." 


90        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  old  and  the  wise.  From  SimpHcianus  particularly  he 
had  much  friendly  help.  Simplicianus  told  him  of  others 
who  having  fought  the  same  fight  had  kept  the  faith  and 
won  the  prize.  When  Augustine  sought  to  escape  the 
cross  of  open  confession  the  holy  veteran  told  him  how 
Victorinus,  seeking  to  hve  an  unconfessed  life,  kept  ask- 
ing, "  Do  walls  then  make  Christians  ? "  and  how  Vic- 
torinus himself  saw  that  walls  do  make  a  Christian  as  the 
regiment  makes  a  soldier ;  that  an  unconfessed  spiritual 
Hfe  has  no  more  power  on  the  battle-fields  of  sense  and 
time  than  martial  devotion,  unarmed,  unenlisted,  un- 
drilled  and  unattached  to  an  army.  SimpHcianus  told 
him  how  Victorinus  came  at  last  to  profess  his  salvation  in 
the  presence  of  the  holy  multitude  and  with  what  acclaim 
the  rejoicing  multitude  received  and  blessed  him,  and  in 
what  increase  of  strength  they  thereafter  dwelt  together.* 
The  example  of  Victorinus  set  Augustine  on  fire  to  imi- 
tate him,  but  alas,  the  flesh  was  still  weak.  Now  the 
inner  voice  became  unresting,  insistent  *'  Awake,  thou 
that  sleepest  and  arise  from  the  dead  and  Christ  shall  give 
thee  light."  Now  Augustine  sensed  to  the  full  the  bit- 
terness of  the  ancient  cry,  "  In  vain  I  dehghted  in  Thy 
law  according  to  the  inner  man,  when  another  law  in  my 
members  rebelled  against  the  law  of  my  mind  and  led 
me  captive  under  the  law  of  sin  which  was  in  my  mem- 
bers. '  Who  then  should  deliver  me  thus  wretched 
from  the  body  of  this  death,  but  Thy  grace  only,  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  ? '"  ^  Other  friends  told  him  of  men 
who  by  that  grace  had  conquered,  and  called  to  his  mind 
especially  the  life  and  miracles  of  St.  Anthony,  an  Egyp- 
tian monk,  fruitful  in  holy  example.  Such  narrations 
searched  his  soul,  yet  was  he  not  free.  He  lashed  him- 
>  Book  VIII,  Chapter  ii.  «  Book  VIII,  Chapter  v. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    91 

self  with  scourges  of  condemnation  ;  his  lashings  were  in 
vain.  All  arguments  were  spent  and  confuted.  There 
remained  a  mute  shrinking.  It  was  not  possible  that 
such  a  state  of  spiritual  and  moral  tension  should  long 
continue, — Augustine  was  upon  the  very  threshold  of  the 
new  birth.  The  passages  in  which  he  describes  the  vio- 
lence of  his  inward  struggle  as  he  sought  to  renounce  his 
own  habits  may  well  be  abridged,  but  the  story  must  be 
told  in  his  own  words. 

"  Then  in  this  great  contention  of  my  inward  dwelling, 
which  I  had  strongly  raised  against  my  soul,  in  *  the 
chamber'  (Isaiah  xxvi.  20;  Matt.  vi.  6)  of  my  heart, 
troubled  in  mind  and  countenance,  I  turned  upon  Alyp- 
ius.  *  What  ails  us  ?  '  I  exclaim :  *  what  is  it  ?  what 
heardest  thou  ?  The  unlearned  start  up  and  "  take 
heaven  by  force"  (Matt.  xi.  12),  and  we  with  our  learning, 
and  without  heart,  lo,  where  we  wallow  in  flesh  and 
blood  !  Are  we  ashamed  to  follow,  because  others  are 
gone  before,  and  not  ashamed,  not  even  to  follow  ? ' 
Some  such  words  I  uttered,  and  my  fever  of  mind  tore 
me  away  from  him,  while  he,  gazing  on  me  in  astonish- 
ment, kept  silence.  For  it  was  not  my  wonted  tone ; 
and  my  forehead,  cheeks,  eyes,  colour,  tone  of  voice, 
spake  my  mind  more  than  the  words  I  uttered.  A  little 
garden  there  was  to  our  lodging,  which  we  had  the  use 
of,  as  of  the  whole  house ;  for  the  master  of  the  house, 
our  host,  was  not  living  there.  Thither  had  the  tumult 
of  my  breast  hurried  me,  where  no  man  might  hinder  the 
hot  contention  wherein  I  had  engaged  with  myself,  until 
it  should  end  as  Thou  knewest,  I  knew  not.  Only  I  was 
healthfully  distracted  and  dying,  to  live ;  knowing  what 
evil  thing  I  was,  and  not  knowing  what  good  thing  I  was 
shortly  to  become.     ...     In  the  very  fever  of  my  ir- 


92        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

resoluteness,  I  made  with  my  body  many  such  motions 
as  men  sometimes  would,  but  cannot,  if  either  they  have 
not  the  limbs,  or  these  be  bound  with  bands,  weakened 
with  infirmity,  or  any  other  way  hindered.  .  .  .  For 
in  these  things  the  ability  was  one  with  the  will,  and  to 
will  was  to  do  ;  and  yet  was  it  not  done ;  and  more  easily 
did  my  body  obey  the  weakest  willing  of  my  soul,  in 
moving  its  limbs  at  its  nod,  than  the  soul  obeyed  itself  to 
accomplish  in  the  will  alone  this  its  momentous  will. 
.  .  .  The  mind  commands  the  mind,  its  own  self,  to 
will,  and  yet  it  doth  not.  Whence  this  monstrousness  ? 
and  to  what  end?  .  .  .  Were  the  will  entire,  it 
would  not  even  command  it  to  be,  because  it  would  al- 
ready be.  It  is  therefore  no  monstrousness  partly  to  will, 
partly  to  nill,  but  a  disease  of  the  mind,  that  it  doth  not 
wholly  rise,  by  truth  upborne,  borne  down  by  custom. 
And  therefore  are  there  two  wills,  for  that  one  of  them  is 
not  entire  :  and  what  the  one  lacketh,  the  other  hath.* 

"...  Thus  soul-sick  was  I,  and  tormented,  accus- 
ing myself  much  more  severely  than  my  wont,  rolling 
and  turning  me  in  my  chain,  till  that  were  wholly  broken, 
whereby  I  now  was  but  just,  but  still  was,  held.  .  .  . 
The  very  toys  of  toys,  and  vanities  of  vanities,  still  held 
mc;  they  plucked  my  fleshly  garment,  and  whispered 
softly, '  Dost  thou  cast  us  off?  and  from  that  moment 
shall  we  no  more  be  with  thee  forever  ?  and  from  that 
moment  shall  not  this  or  that  be  lawful  for  thee  forever?' 
.  .  .  But  now  they  spake  very  faintly.  For  on  that 
side  whither  I  had  set  my  face,  and  whither  I  trembled  to 
go,  there  appeared  unto  me  the  chaste  dignity  of  Conti- 
nency,  serene,  yet  not  relaxedly  gay,  honestly  alluring 
me  to  come,  and  doubt  not ;  and  stretching  forth  to  re. 

»  Book  VIII,  Chapters  viii  and  ix. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    93 

ceive  and  embrace  me,  her  holy  hands  full  of  multitudes 
of  good  examples.* 

"...  But  when  a  deep  consideration  had  from  the 
secret  bottom  of  my  soul  drawn  together  and  heaped  up  all 
my  misery  in  the  sight  of  my  heart,  there  arose  a  mighty 
storm,  bringing  a  mighty  shower  of  tears.  ...  So  was 
I  speaking,  and  weeping  in  the  most  bitter  contrition  of 
my  heart,  when  lo  !  I  heard  from  a  neighbouring  house 
a  voice,  as  of  boy  or  girl,  I  know  not,  chanting,  and  oft 
repeating,  '  Take  up  and  read ;  take  up  and  read.' 
Instantly,  my  countenance  altered,  I  began  to  think  most 
intently,  whether  children  were  wont  in  any  kind  of  play 
to  sing  such  words ;  nor  could  I  remember  ever  to  have 
heard  the  like.  So  checking  the  torrent  of  my  tears,  I 
arose  ;  interpreting  it  to  be  no  other  than  a  command 
from  God,  to  open  the  book,  and  read  the  first  chapter  I 
should  find.  For  I  had  heard  of  Antony,  that  coming 
in  during  the  reading  of  the  Gospel,  he  received  the 
admonition,  as  if  what  was  being  read,  was  spoken  to 
him ;  *  Go,  sell  all  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor, 
and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven,  and  come  and 
follow  Me'  (Matt.  xix.  21).  And  by  such  oracle  he  was 
forthwith  converted  unto  Thee.  Eagerly  then  I  returned 
to  the  place  where  Alypius  was  sitting ;  for  there  had  I 
laid  the  volume  of  the  Apostle,  when  I  arose  thence.  I 
seized,  opened,  and  in  silence  read  that  section,  on  which 
my  eyes  first  fell :  '  Not  in  rioting  and  drunkenness,  not 
in  chambering  and  wantonness,  not  in  strife  and  envy- 
ing: but  put  ye  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  make  not 
provision  for  the  flesh'  (Rom.  xiii.  13,  14),  in  concupis- 
cence. No  further  would  I  read ;  nor  needed  I  :  for 
instantly  at  the  end  of  this  sentence,  by  a  light  as  it  were 

^Book  VIII,  Chapter  xi. 


94       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

of  serenity  infused  into  my  heart,  all  the  darkness  of 
doubt  vanished  away."  * 

I  have  quoted  all  this  at  length  because  it  is  so  tre- 
mendous a  document.  Starbuck  has  given  us  the  psy- 
chological explanation  of  the  new  birth  and  has  even 
diagramed  the  tensions  of  the  soul.  William  James  has 
invested  it  all  with  the  charm  of  his  great  learning,  his 
eager  style  and  his  illuminating  philosophy.  Begbie  has 
found  for  us  the  comrades  of  Augustine — twice-born  men 
— in  the  slums  of  London.  But  the  narration  of  Augus- 
tine is  the  classic  recital  of  one  who  spoke  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  own  inner  experience,  who  traces  step  by 
step  all  the  movement  of  the  inner  tumult,  and  who  has 
communicated  to  his  deathless  pages  the  fires  which 
burned  within  him  in  the  solitudes  of  his  own  chamber, 
in  the  rooms  where  he  spoke  with  his  friends,  and  in  the 
gardens  of  Milan.  I  wonder  did  he  lift  up  his  eyes  from 
time  to  time  to  the  stainless  inaccessible  barriers  of  the 
Alps,  envying  their  changeless  serenity ;  I  wonder  if  he 
found  in  them  any  suggestions  of  the  heahng  serenity  of 
God. 

Augustine's  confession  changed  all  his  life;  he  de- 
termined thereafter  to  give  up  his  teaching  of  rhetoric 
and  devote  his  life  to  God.  In  preparation  for  his  bap- 
tism and  for  the  consummation  of  readjustments  so  pro- 
found, he  betook  himself  with  his  friend  Alypius,  his  son 
Adeodatus,  and  his  mother,  to  the  country-house  of 
Verecundus,  a  friend  as  yet  himself  unconverted  and 
sincerely  regretting  those  necessities  which  would  de- 
prive him  of  Augustine's  comradeship.  This  was  one 
of  the  happiest  periods  of  Augustine's  life.  In  all  likeli- 
hood he  went  to  Casciago,  "  a  quiet  little  town  at  the 

»  Book  VIII,  Chapter  xii. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    95 

foot  of  the  mountains.  To  the  northwest  it  had  the 
superb  horizon  of  Monte  Rosa  and  the  Pennine  Alps, 
whilst  the  hills  encircled  it  also  on  the  north  and  east, 
giving  broken  glimpses  of  Maggiore  and  a  few  smaller 
lakes  to  the  northeast."  To  the  southeast  lay  the  broad 
plains  of  Lombardy.  It  is  good  to  think  that  after 
having  been  so  much  tossed  about,  Augustine  came  for 
a  little  to  such  a  haven  of  peace  and  that  now  every 
shadow  of  estrangement  between  mother  and  son  having 
been  cleared  away  and  all  her  prayers  for  him  having 
been  answered,  she  herself  dwelt  in  a  joy  which  was  a 
thing  more  precious  since  it  had  been  so  long  sought 
and  was  to  be  so  brief.  Augustine  confesses  to  having 
forgotten  much  which  passed  in  those  holy  days,  but  to 
remember  still  such  a  pain  in  his  teeth  as  fairly  deprived 
him  of  speech.  The  pain  departed  as  it  had  come,  and 
Augustine  is  minded  to  remember  it,  more  gratefully 
than  most  of  us  remember  toothache,  as  the  chastening 
scourge  of  God.  At  the  end  of  the  vintage  time, 
Augustine  with  Alypius  and  Adeodatus  was  baptized, 
and  he  pauses  in  his  grateful  memories  to  rejoice  in  the 
son  whom  he  had  called  "  the  God-given,"  and  whose 
brief  Hfe  was  full  of  charm  and  promise.  "  Excellently 
hadst  Thou  made  him,  he  was  not  quite  fifteen,  and  in 
wit  surpassed  many  grave  and  learned  men.  I  confess 
unto  Thee,  O  Lord  my  God,  creator  of  all  and  abun- 
dantly able  to  reform  our  deformities  :  for  I  had  no  part 
in  that  boy,  but  the  sin." 

Now  he  starts  with  Monica  to  return  to  Africa  and 
their  unclouded  comradeship  grows  richer  as  it  ap- 
proaches its  end.  There  are  no  more  beautiful  chapters 
in  any  literature  than  those  in  which  Augustine  pays 
his   tribute   of  love  and  devotion  to  the  one  who  was 


96       PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

mother  of  his  body  and  more  than  mother  of  his  soul. 
At  Ostia  the  two  paused  a  Httle  that  they  might  recover 
from  the  fatigues  of  a  long  journey  in  anticipation  of  a 
trying  voyage.  There,  leaning  together  in  a  certain 
window  which  overlooked  a  garden,  they  discoursed 
upon  high  and  holy  things ;  for  them  both  the  tumult 
of  time  and  sense  was  hushed,  and  in  a  great  inner  and 
outer  serenity  they  shared  the  beatific  vision.  Monica 
was  eager  to  depart  and  be  at  rest,  but  she  sought  no 
passing  voyage.  "  Son,  for  mine  own  part  I  have  no 
further  delight  in  anything  in  this  life.  What  I  do  here 
any  longer,  and  to  what  end  I  am  here,  I  know  not,  now 
that  my  hopes  in  this  world  are  accomplished.  One 
thing  there  was,  for  which  I  desired  to  linger  for  a  while 
in  this  life,  that  I  might  see  thee  a  Catholic  Christian  be- 
fore I  died.  My  God  hath  done  this  for  me  more  abun- 
dantly, that  I  should  now  see  thee  withal,  despising  earthly 
happiness,  become  His  servant :  what  do  I  here?" 

Five  days  after  she  fell  sick  of  a  fever,  and  in  the 
ninth  day  of  her  sickness  and  the  fifty-sixth  year  of  her 
age  and  the  three  and  thirtieth  year  of  her  son's  age 
was  that  religious  and  holy  soul  freed  from  the  body. 
In  Augustine's  heart  and  in  the  hearts  of  his  comrades 
such  a  power  of  Christian  restraint  held  that  they  buried 
her  without  tears.  Later  the  sorrow  of  the  son  over- 
flowed. Years  afterwards,  Augustine  debates  with  him- 
self whether  in  so  mourning  he  yielded  to  any  sin.  A 
strange  and  pathetic  voice  out  of  a  great  human  and 
sorrow-filled  past,  strange  misunderstanding  of  the  com- 
passion of  the  Eternal  when  the  tears  of  a  loving  son  for 
a  sainted  mother  are  counted  as  sin  in  His  sight  who  is 
Motherhood  and  Fatherhood  in  their  perfect  and  eternal 
compassion. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    97 

With  the  death  of  Monica,  the  interest  of  the  *♦  Confes- 
sions "  ends,  and  the  after  years  of  Augustine's  life  may  for 
our  purpose  be  quickly  summarized.  There  was  that 
force  in  the  man,  both  moral  and  mental,  which  secured 
for  him  distinct  leadership  in  the  Latin  Church.  He  be- 
came directly  a  fertile  and  endless  commentator  on  the 
Old  and  New  Testament.  He  continued  a  work  of  au- 
thorship which  was  to  secure  him  so  large  a  place  not 
only  in  the  publisliers'catalogues  of  his  own  time,  but  in  all 
accounts  of  patristic  literature.  He  established  at  Tha- 
gaste  a  communal  life,  the  foundation  of  the  old  Augus- 
tinian  order.  His  passion  for  the  monastic  life  led  him 
on  the  whole  to  overdo  it,  and  the  undisciplined  multi- 
tudes whom  he  attached  without  discrimination  to  the 
monasteries  served  neither  their  own  best  lives  or  the 
best  interests  either  of  the  Church  or  the  State.  The 
diocese  of  Hippo  found  him  out  and  made  him  bishop 
and  from  that  time  on  the  story  of  his  life  is  the  story  of 
the  great  interests,  the  great  contentions,  and  the  great 
adjustments  of  the  Latin  Church.  He  spoke  mightily 
against  those  separatists,  the  Donatists  ;  he  overthrew  the 
heretical  contentions  of  Pelagius,  and  in  so  doing  gave 
temper  and  form,  to  the  thought  of  Western  Europe  for 
more  than  a  tliousand  years.  He  took  part  in  the 
stormy  councils  of  a  distracted  time  ;  he  meditated  much 
upon  the  significance  of  the  overthrow  of  the  Eternal 
City ;  he  formulated  a  new  philosophy  of  history  in  the 
light  of  new  spiritual  forces  just  then  being  launched  ; 
he  wrote  "  The  City  of  God  "  to  free  the  Church  from 
the  reproach  of  the  ruin  of  the  empire  and  to  disclose 
those  vaster  and  more  spiritual  foundations  upon  which 
God  had  always  been  building  ;  he  administered  the  af- 
fairs of  his  diocese,  comforted  the  troubled  and  perplexed. 


98        PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

made  the  memories  of  his  youth,  young  manhood  and 
conversion  imperishable  in  his  *♦  Confessions  "  ;  was  not 
always  either  gentle  or  temperate  in  his  speech,  but  none 
the  less  bore  himself  hke  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ 
and  died  behind  the  besieged  walls  of  Hippo  while  the 
Vandals  thundered  at  its  gates.  He  lived  long  enough  to 
see  Northern  Africa  swept  as  by  a  broom  of  fire.  He 
did  not  live  long  enough  to  see  the  walls  of  the  new  City 
of  God  begin  to  lift  themselves  above  the  fields  of  time. 
What  he  had  done  was  more  persistent  than  he  knew. 
The  resistless  tides  of  barbarian  invasion  might  indeed 
sweep  away  much  that  he  had  loved  or  built,  but  the 
deeper  and  more  permanent  things  to  which  he  gave 
his  testimony  and  which  he  enriched  out  of  his  own 
brooding  soul  were  not  destined  so  to  pass.  In  their 
permanency  he  himself  has  become  permanent. 

When  one  is  done  with  the  '•  Confessions,"  two  out- 
standing impressions  remain.  They  have  already  been 
more  than  once  intimated  in  the  course  of  these  studies, 
but  they  will  bear  repetition.  First,  we  have  in  the  expe- 
rience of  Augustine  a  wholly  clear  and  adequate  revela- 
tion of  the  winning  of  a  soul.  Saul  of  Tarsus  has  shown 
us  what  it  meant  to  pass  from  Judaism  to  Christianity,  and 
more  than  one  of  the  pagan  writers  has  indicated  the  steps 
by  which  he  found  his  way  from  paganism  into  the  Chris- 
tian faith  and  experience,  but  none  has  so  clearly  por- 
trayed the  whole  process  as  Augustine.  In  the  travail  of 
his  spirit  we  see  something  vaster  than  his  own  conver- 
sion ;  we  see  the  formulation  of  new  spiritual  expe- 
riences, the  birth  of  new  spiritual  relationships,  the 
growth  of  new  moral  certainties  and  consecrations.  We 
see  the  passing  of  an  ancient  order;  the  birth  of  a  new. 
For  one's  soul,  after  all,  is  one's   fullest  and  richest  self 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE    99 

grown  into  fruitful  relationship  with  the  Unseen  and 
Eternal.  To  win  a  soul  is  to  establish  such  relationships, 
develop  such  possibilities,  find  new  meanings  and  new 
realities,  and  to  come  to  possess  a  real  value  for  the  mean- 
ings and  relationships  which  one  has  discovered.  To 
become  a  Christian  soul  means  to  have  entered  by  the 
roads  of  experience,  love,  obedience,  truth,  service,  into 
those  revelations  and  conceptions  of  the  Unseen  and 
Eternal  which  constitute  the  Evangel ;  and  to  come  to 
possess,  on  the  other  hand,  such  a  value  for  them  that  if 
the  Christian  soul  is  richer  in  having  a  new  world  in 
which  to  dwell,  the  world  in  which  it  dwells  is  richer  by 
having  a  new  citizen.  This  is  what  happened  to  Augus- 
tine. In  the  very  travail  of  his  spirit,  the  Christian  faith 
became  not  only  his  profound  persuasion,  but  it  found 
verification  in  an  experience  which  completely  changed 
the  whole  content  of  his  life.  He  bridges  for  us  the 
passages  between  paganism  and  Christianity,  he  shows  us 
what  it  meant  to  discard  the  old  like  an  outgrown  gar- 
ment and  to  be  clothed  upon  with  the  new,  though  in- 
deed no  such  superficial  imagery  does  for  so  searching  a 
process.  He  shows  us  what  rebirth  meant  for  men  to 
whom  it  was  no  convention,  but  an  agonizing  recasting 
of  both  the  inner  and  outer  life.  He  shows  us  what  it 
meant  to  put  aside  the  inheritances  and  relationships  of  an 
immemorial  order  and  to  stand  as  a  little  child,  untaught, 
undisciplined,  and  unperfect  in  the  presence  of  the  new. 
What  Augustine  experienced,  multitudes  of  men  and 
women  also  experienced.  They  have  given  us  no  con- 
fession, the  labour  of  their  souls  might  not  have  been  so 
poignant;  much  that  was  profound  in  Augustine's  strug- 
gle may  have  been  superficial  in  their  own  conversion, 
but  nevertheless  they  went  the  way    that  he  went  and 


loo      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

he  has  become  their  spokesman.  He  is  a  voice  made 
splendidly  articulate,  declaring  for  us  all  the  experiences 
of  multitudes  of  silent  folk  who  struggled  through  their 
shadows  to  the  light,  and  the  outcome  of  whose  strug- 
gle was  a  new  spiritual  attitude,  nay,  a  new  spiritual 
reality.  With  them  a  Christian  soul  becomes  a  fact  and 
a  force  in  the  inner  and  outer  history  of  the  world. 
The  spiritual  attitude  which  Augustine  attained  was  to 
be  for  long  the  dominant  spiritual  attitude  of  Europe, 
was  to  govern  mediaeval  conceptions,  inspire  mediaeval 
actions,  colour  with  its  flame  the  mystic  brooding  of  the 
mediaeval  mind.  It  was  more  than  mediaeval.  There 
are  in  the  spiritual  affirmations  of  the  ♦♦  Confessions  " 
elements  of  permanence  transcending  epochs  and  condi- 
tions. 

Augustine  helps  us  not  only  to  understand  the  medi- 
aeval soul  and  the  processes  by  which  it  came  to  its  own, 
he  helps  us  to  understand  the  universal  soul.  Augustine 
was  not  the  only  force  working  towards  the  same  ends 
in  Western  Europe,  but  none  the  less  he  is  distinctively 
typical.  The  quality  of  his  spirituality  is  the  dominant 
spiritual  quality  of  Latin  Christendom  till  the  time  of  the 
Renaissance. 

In  the  second  place,  the  immense  sense  of  the  sover- 
eignty of  God,  or  I  might  better  say  to  begin  with,  the 
immense  sense  of  the  reality  of  God  which  dominated 
every  aspect  of  Augustine's  life  and  thought — deepened, 
as  it  came  to  be  later,  by  an  equally  immense  sense  of 
the  sovereignty  of  God,  introduced  into  all  Western 
thmking  and  living  an  absolutely  imperative  note.  No 
one  needs  to  justify  what  is  overdrawn  and  overstated  in 
the  Augustinian  theology  to  be  sure  of  this.  I  do  not 
believe  myself  that  the  root  of  the  abuses  to  which  that 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     loi 

theology  afterwards  lent  itself  was  in  Augustine  himself. 
It  might  have  been  in  his  logic,  but  not  in  his  heart. 
The  God  whose  sovereignty  he  so  exalted  was  for  him 
always  love  beyond  word,  compassion  beyond  his  broken 
and  stained  desert,  a  healing  and  redemptive  presence,  an 
interpenetrating  power,  the  very  spirit  of  comradeship. 
If  only  he  might  have  dwelt  more  expHcitly  upon  that 
which  is  imphcit  in  every  hne  of  the  "  Confessions,"  he 
might  have  saved  the  Western  Christian  world  from  a 
chilling  shadow  which  has  darkened  the  joy  of  sensitive 
souls  for  generations,  and  might  have  secured  the  ends 
which  he  sought  to  attain  in  so  great  and  radiant  a  way 
as  to  have  stood  alongside  St.  Paul  and  St.  John.  He 
did  not  do  this,  but  he  did  at  least  the  necessary  thing. 
It  was  necessary  that  a  great  and  awesome  restraint  should 
be  laid  upon  the  restless  peoples  who  were  coming  in  to 
possess  the  empire  and  lay  the  foundations  of  new 
nations.  They  needed  the  constant  exaltation  of  a  sover- 
eignty which  should  bow  king  and  priest,  lawless  nobility 
and  turbulent  commonalty  before  one  common  throne. 
There  was  only  one  throne  high  enough  for  that — the 
throne  of  the  Divine  Sovereignty. 

We  are  always  needing  a  new  and  constraining  sense 
of  the  true  force  of  high  spiritual  conceptions.  The  world 
is  not  moved  in  the  last  analysis  by  those  forces  which  oc- 
cupy the  foregrounds  of  life  and  fill  our  ears  too  often  with 
their  constant  clamour.  One  must  seek  the  true  causes  of 
things  in  seemingly  remote  and  quiet  places.  In  the 
great  moments  of  human  history  when  portentous  issues 
are  joined,  whether  in  senates,  cabinets,  diplomatic  con- 
ferences or  the  red  arbitrament  of  battle-fields,  the  hostile 
forces  will  be  found,  when  you  have  passed  by  the  show 
of    things,   in    political   philosophies,   embattled    ideals, 


102      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

competitive  interpretations  of  life,  the  spirit  of  national- 
ity made  incarnate — all  in  one  form  or  another  the  very 
passions  of  the  soul,  as  these  passions  have  been  given 
shape  and  power  by  the  soul's  most  commanding  faith 
and  discriminating  vision.  So  wc  are  not  lightly  to  dis- 
miss contentions  vi^hich  seem  far,  far  removed  from  the 
concrete  concerns  of  life.  Sooner  or  later  the  political 
theorist  may  launch  a  battle-ship,  the  philosopher  sharpen 
the  edge  of  the  warrior's  sword,  the  dreamer  shake 
the  earth  with  the  tread  of  armed  men,  the  prophet  recast 
institutions,  the  theologian  direct  the  current  of  a  thousand 
years  of  history.  For  in  some  high  way  Augustine  did 
just  this,  and  most  of  all  in  his  controversy  with  Pelagius. 
Nothing  seems  farther  removed  from  us  than  that 
ancient  contention — that  strife  between  monks,  that 
debate  about  themes  in  regard  to  which  no  final  word 
has  really  ever  been  said — a  debate  whose  premises  were 
in  part  unprovable  assumptions,  whose  temper  was  too 
largely  unchristian  and  whose  outcome  was  the  dominance 
of  a  system  of  theology  which  has  lent  itself  all  too  easily  to 
the  caricaturmg  both  of  God  and  man.  Our  own  dominant 
theological  tendencies  are  against  rather  than  for  Augus- 
tine ;  our  practical  temper  does  but  deepen  our  impatience 
with  him  and  all  his  kind.  None  the  less  a  vast  deal 
more  than  theologies  was  at  issue  in  the  Pelagian  con- 
troversy. The  question  at  issue  was  just  this :  was 
Augustine  or  Pelagius  to  be  the  schoolmaster  of  Europe 
for  a  long  millennium  ?  Was  Augustine  or  Pelagius  to 
supply  the  spiritual  dynamic,  the  dominant  temper  of 
that  great  and  pregnant  time  ?  For  we  must  remember 
that  the  victor  in  that  controversy  was  to  have  at  hand 
the  most  marvellous  institution  for  the  incarnation  and 
propagation  of  certain  great  conceptions  of  life  which 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     103 

has  ever  been  offered  men — I  mean  the  Latin  Catholic 
Church.  For  a  thousand  years  that  Church  without 
competition  or  contradiction  was  to  teach  men  about 
themselves,  their  God  and  their  duty  to  their  God.  Her 
teachings  were  to  be  accepted  as  the  very  word  of  the 
Divine  ;  the  whole  of  society  was  to  be,  in  an  almost 
unbelievable  way,  interpenetrated  by  her  tempers,  dom- 
inated by  her  spirit,  poured  into  moulds  which  she  her- 
self was  to  form  and  to  furnish.  The  men  who  were  to 
be  thus  shaped  were  much  in  need  of  discipline — im- 
perious, turbulent,  strangely  contradictory  in  their 
qualities  of  pride  and  humility,  strength  and  weakness. 
To  have  dismissed  them  prematurely  to  a  liberty  which 
they  were  not  fit  to  exercise,  to  have  minimized  for  them 
the  significance  of  the  moral  struggle,  to  have  heightened 
their  pride  and  weakened  their  self-restraint  would  have 
been  to  invite  disaster.  Augustine  was  a  better  spokes- 
man for  the  time  than  Pelagius  could  ever  have  been. 

We  have  seen  already  in  this  study  how  the  "  Confes- 
sions "  reveal  to  us,  as  no  human  document  before  or  since, 
how  a  soul  is  to  be  won  when  a  man  has  become  the  battle- 
field of  the  old  and  the  new,  when  two  worlds,  one  perish- 
ing, the  other  just  coming  to  birth,  struggle  for  his  pos- 
session and  when  all  the  impulses  of  his  undisciplined 
nature  cry  out  against  the  constraints  to  which  the  new 
would  bow  him.  Augustine  knew  better  than  Pelagius 
how  hard  it  is  to  be  good  ;  he  felt  as  the  quiet  and 
temperate  Pelagius  had  never  felt  the  stress  of  elemental 
urgencies.  He  knew  better  than  the  British  monk  what 
heavenly  forces  needed  to  hasten  to  the  assistance  of  the 
hard  beset  if  goodness  and  love  were  to  win  the  fight. 
All  this  makes  him  a  better  spokesman  for  the  master 
need  of  a  troubled  time  than  the  man  against  whom  he 


104      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

contended.  In  my  more  quiet  and  self-contained 
moments  I  know  that  Pelagius  was  the  more  temperate 
spokesman,  in  some  regions  the  clearer  thinker,  and 
always  the  champion  of  that  natural  worth  of  humanity 
which  we  ought  not  to  forget,  but  at  other  times  when 
the  sense  of  the  difficulty  of  life  is  much  upon  me,  when 
the  empire  of  the  soul  is  divided,  then  I  know  that 
Augustine  voiced  such  spiritual  necessities  as  make  the 
calm  conclusions  of  Pelagius  utterly  trivial.  Some  sover- 
eignty there  must  be.  Where  shall  we  seek  it  if  not  in 
the  sovereignty  of  God  ?  Some  unifying  power  there 
must  be  to  bind  together  in  vast  harmonious  processes 
the  diverse  restlessnesses  of  what  would  otherwise  be  a 
formless  welter  of  individualism.  Whatever  human  free- 
dom is,  it  is  no  unrelated  thing,  and  if  we  be  free  at  all 
we  are  perfectly  free  only  in  the  expression  of  a  perfect 
obedience. 

"  Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how. 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine.** 

Augustine  felt  all  this  because  he  had  so  lived  it  out ; 
he  exalted  the  forces  which  had  made  his  own  life  so 
fruitful  and  sought  to  secure  for  others  those  governing 
conceptions  in  which  he  himself  came  in  the  end  so 
serenely  to  rest.  Indeed,  though  he  knew  it  not,  he  held 
to  them  so  passionately  not  because  they  represented  the 
conclusion  of  philosophy,  but  because  they  incarnated  the 
spirit  of  the  saint.  Now  I  repeat,  Europe  was  to  need 
just  what  Augustine  needed.  Something  of  the  kindling 
contagion  of  his  enfranchised  soul  escaped  of  course  from 
the  forms  and  conclusions  which  were  all  he  could  com- 
municate  to  the   unborn.     What  was  left  seemed  and 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE     105 

still  seems  hard  and  repellent.  But  the  wonder  of  it  all 
is  that  in  the  fire  of  need  and  passion  those  iron  con- 
clusions become  again  malleable ;  they  lose  their  hard- 
ness and  rigidity,  they  glow  as  they  were  meant  to  glow 
with  creating,  sustaining,  transforming  powen  They 
bear  men  up  where  weaker  contentions  break  beneath 
them.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Augustine  thus 
secured  for  Europe  disciplining  and  transforming  forces 
without  which  all  the  better  part  of  Christendom  would 
have  to  be  reconstructed.  He  bowed  Europe  awestruck 
before  the  tribunals  of  a  sovereign  God  and  in  her  nobler 
spiritual  moments,  from  that  day  to  this,  the  Western 
world  has  accepted  the  empire  which  he  proclaimed. 
There  came  indeed,  in  the  providence  of  God,  a  time 
when  the  teachings  of  Augustine  were  to  be  humanized 
and  his  affirmations  of  the  sovereignty  of  God  qualified  ; 
when  indeed  for  the  very  sake  of  that  sovereignty  our 
own  freedom  was  to  be  reemphasized  and  the  sovereign 
will  of  God  made  known  as  a  will  of  tenderness  and  love, 
mightiest  of  all  in  its  redemptive  passion  and  never  so 
sovereign  as  when,  halting  itself  before  the  mysteries  of 
human  personality,  it  allowed  to  men  in  the  sanctuaries 
of  their  own  souls  a  freedom  which,  we  reverently  be- 
lieve, was  permitted  them  that  they  might,  through  that 
freedom,  come  back  to  their  Father  as  sons  made  perfect 
in  obedience.  But  all  this  must  not  blind  us  to  the  truth 
and  power  of  Augustine's  contentions.  As  theologian 
he  has  furnished  to  Western  Christendom  a  doctrinal 
form  which  has  been  dominant  for  a  millennium  and  a 
half;  as  a  seeker  after  God  the  story  of  his  travail  is  the 
common  treasure  of  the  Church  and  the  centuries. 


Ill 

The  Imitation  of  Christ 

As  centuries  go  it  is  a  far  cry  from  the  "  Confessions 
of  St.  Augustine  "  to  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ." 
A  millennium  which  saw  the  final  passing  of 
the  ancient  Roman  world,  the  birth  and  discipline  of 
new  nations  and  the  Church  of  the  Nazarene  made  wholly 
subject  to  the  imperial  spirit  and  wholly  possessed  by  the 
Roman  genius  for  organization  separates  the  two  books. 
Beneath  these  same  brooding  centuries  the  evolution  of 
new  forms  of  society,  the  growth  and  perfection  of 
feudalism,  the  creation  of  new  arts  and  architecture — the 
marvellous  expression  of  the  Gothic  spirit  in  cathedrals 
and  palaces — all  got  themselves  accomplished,  and — more 
wonderful  than  all  else — a  new  mind  and  more  significant 
still,  a  new  soul  came  into  being.  This  new  mind — the 
mediaeval  mind — had  itself  taken  root  in  soil  either 
wholly  or  partly  saturated  with  classic  traditions,  and  had 
been  nurtured,  moreover,  under  the  tutelage  of  a  waning 
classic  culture,  but  it  is  in  the  end  as  far  from  the  classic 
mind  as  the  east  is  from  the  west. 

The  pagan  mind  was  perfectly  at  home  in  this  world. 
It  was  at  its  best  estate  conscious  of  no  inner  strivings 
nor  of  divided  laws  ;  it  rejoiced  serenely  in  the  light  and 
beauty  of  the  world,  frankly  related  itself  to  the  world 
through  the  appetites  and  urgencies  of  the  clay  and  found 
in  it  all  nothing  of  which  to  be  ashamed,  nothing  from 

io6 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  107 

which  to  seek  emancipation.  This  is  not  to  say  that, 
from  time  to  time,  a  breath  from  nobler  and  ampler 
regions  did  not  stir  in  pagan  speculation  and  aspiration, 
but  even  Plato — the  lord  of  them  that  dream  then  and 
now — had  no  such  sense  of  divided  laws  and  contending 
empires  as  gave  poignancy  to  the  "  Confessions  of  St. 
Augustine  "  or  constituted  the  backgrounds  of  the"  Imita- 
tion of  Christ." 

The  pagan  was  frankly  a  citizen  of  this  world.  In 
Augustine,  as  we  have  seen,  the  costly  transition  of  the 
pagan  to  the  Christian  order  has  found  a  great  and  im- 
perishable expression.  By  the  time  of  Thomas  a  Kempis 
all  this  is  unbelievably  past.  The  classics  had  indeed  not 
been  forgotten,  Latin  was  still  the  scholars'  language  and 
Greek  was  about  to  be  rediscovered,  but  all  the  realities 
which  lay  behind  the  classic  literatures,  the  attitudes 
which  are  there  expressed,  the  tempers  which  there  de- 
clare themselves,  had  become  for  the  mediseval  mind  un- 
speakably remote.  Thomas  a  Kempis  and  his  fellow 
monks  might  have  made  a  shift  to  talk  to  Cicero  could 
that  worthy  have  been  reincarnated.  He  might  not  have 
recognized  their  pronunciation ;  they  would  have  found 
his  majestic  and  balanced  diction  strangely  different  from 
their  monastic  Latin,  none  the  less  so  far  as  the  forms  of 
speech  are  concerned  the  Roman  and  the  monk  might 
have  got  on  together.  But  neither  could  for  a  moment 
have  even  begun  to  understand  the  other's  soul,  still  less 
could  the  monk  have  understood  the  soul  of  the  Greek 
or  the  Greek  the  monastic  consciousness  of  life.  Point 
by  point  the  new  and  the  old  are  wholly  alien.  Life's 
very  centre  of  gravity  has  shifted.  The  monk  was  a 
citizen  of  the  world  that  is  to  be ;  he  lived  not  for  time 
but  for  the  eternal. 


io8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

The  world  of  sense  and  space  was  no  longer  saturated 
with  beauty.  If  he  thought  of  it  at  all  he  thought  of  the 
earth  as  a  hot-bed  of  temptation,  the  air  as  haunted  with 
demons.  The  shy  and  beautiful  things  which  peopled 
the  olive  groves  of  sunny  Grecian  mountain  slopes, 
watched  over  Grecian  fountains,  or  dwelt  in  the  reeds 
by  the  river — haunting  spirits  of  earth's  kindness  and 
beauty,  children  of  light  and  laughter — had  disappeared 
and  the  forms  which  the  creative  and  revealing  imagina- 
tion of  the  mediaeval  sculptor  has  put  along  the  gal- 
leries and  upon  the  towers  of  his  cathedrals  had  taken 
their  place.  You  have  only  to  contrast  classic  art  with 
mediaeval  art  to  see  across  what  immense  and  sundering 
spaces  the  human  spirit  had  passed.  Gone  the  perfect 
beauty  of  a  humanity  utterly  at  peace,  utterly  adequate  to 
all  that  life  might  bring,  utterly  at  one  with  the  vaster 
world-order  of  which  it  was  a  part ;  wholly  gone  are 
grace  and  beauty  and  noble  lines  and  poises  of  strength 
and  balance.  There  is  upon  the  faces  of  the  men  and 
women — for  the  most  part  saints  and  martyrs  who  sleep 
with  piously  crossed  hands  on  their  marble  tombs  or 
meet  you  in  the  recessed  portals  of  the  great  churches — 
an  utterly  different  look.  Their  bodies  are  worn  and 
wasted ;  indeed  it  is  utterly  impossible  that  they  should 
ever  have  had  such  bodies  as  are  there  too  often  por- 
trayed. But  none  the  less  they  suggest  great  conquer- 
ing aspirations  and  restlessnesses  which  have  come  through 
crucifixion  into  peace,  and  wide-eyed  longings  after  the 
Unseen  and  Eternal,  and  mystic  broodings  upon  the  nature 
and  mystery  of  things,  and  numbing  fears  of  death  and 
judgment  and  hell,  and  the  expectations  of  purgatorial 
pains,  and  radiant  hopes  of  paradise,  and  the  sense  of  the 
insignificance  of  the  things  which  perish,  the  certainty  of 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  109 

the  things  which  endure,  the  reaUty  of  God  and  the  re- 
ahty  of  their  own  souls.  For  all  that  and  more  besides 
is  the  mediaeval  mind;  all  that  and  more  besides  the 
mediaeval  soul. 

Mr.  Henry  Osborn  Taylor  has  just  been  telling  us,  in 
a  very  noble  book,  of  all  the  elements  which  went  to  form 
the  mediaeval  mind,  what  formative  forces  found  their 
expression  in  all  those  attitudes  and  conceptions  and 
central  consciousnesses  which  may  thus  be  named.  For 
my  own  part  I  believe  that  you  will  understand  all  that 
is  most  significant,  not  only  in  the  mediaeval  mind,  but 
in  the  mediaeval  soul,  when  you  have  dwelt  much  in  the 
hght  of  the  windows  of  Chartres,  when  you  have  climbed 
often  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  and  when  you  have 
sought  to  decipher  all  that  the  front  of  Amiens  has  to 
tell.  For  in  strongly  fashioned  stone,  in  the  symbolism  of 
pictured  windows,  and  the  recitative  of  sculptured  fronts, 
we  are  taught  the  manifold  aspects  of  the  temper  which 
built  the  cathedrals,  coloured  the  windows,  and  carved 
the  figures.  There  their  hopes  and  fears  are  made  tre- 
mendously real  to  us,  their  limitations,  their  ignorances, 
their  profound  intuitions,  their  endless  sense  of  the  wonder 
and  mystery  of  life,  their  reverence,  their  adoration,  their 
aspirations ;  and  there,  at  the  same  time,  we  are  taught 
the  marvellous  and  inclusive  unity  which  underlay  all 
these  and  which  so  wrought  that  their  very  contradictions 
— as  the  contradictions  of  an  arch — bore  up  into  soaring 
and  architectonic  stability  the  fabric  which  they  built. 
They  built  their  cathedrals  out  of  the  reconciliation  of 
opposing  thrusts  ;  so  they  built  their  civilization. 

We  shall  understand  the  mediaeval  mind  best  next 
when  we  have  dwelt  much  in  the  fellowship  of  Dante — 
himself  •'  the  voice  of  twelve  silent  centuries" — have  seen 


no      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

how  the  sense  of  the  eternal  constantly  possessed  him 
and  with  what  vast  outgoings  and  consequences  the  streets 
of  Florence  were  coterminous,  with  what  a  feeling  of  per- 
fect fitness  he  felt  himself  to  be  the  comrade  of  the  shades 
which  cast  no  shadow,  how  strong  his  sense  of  ethical 
consequence,  and  how  immense,  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  his  mental  grasp. 

And  in  the  last  place  we  shall  understand  the  mediaeval 
mind  and  the  mediaeval  soul  when  we  have  read  often  the 
pages  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  and  so  have  seen  clearly  be- 
hind all  the  clamour  of  the  time  its  inconsistencies,  its 
fightings,  its  cruelties,  its  endless  ferment,  its  emphasis 
upon  externalities,  its  secret  wealth  of  quiet  souls,  with 
obediences  and  humilities  and  self-denials  which  gave 
everything  and  asked  nothing,  save  the  sense  of  the  love 
and  the  favour  of  God. 

The  •♦  Imitation  of  Christ  "  is  the  culmination  of  one  of 
the  two  distinct  processes  of  the  mediaeval  spiritual  de- 
velopment, for  from  the  very  first  there  were  always  two 
contending  conceptions  of  the  perfect  spiritual  order. 
One  found  its  genesis  in  St.  Augustine's  ♦'  City  of  God" 
and  its  consummation  in  the  Church  of  Innocent  the 
Third.  Augustine  had  seen  behind  the  passing  of  the 
imperial  order  the  emergence  of  an  order  more  splendidly 
and  more  permanently  imperial — an  administration  of 
the  spirit  in  the  realm  of  the  temporal,  employing  ancient 
temporal  forms  for  new  spiritual  sovereignties.  Here 
or  nowhere  was  the  anticipation  of  the  Latin  Catholic 
Church,  and  all  the  centuries  from  Augustine  to  Inno- 
cent do  but  record  the  progressive  realization  of  this 
vision,  until  in  the  end  the  Church  in  its  gradations,  and 
administrations,  and  organic  solidities,  and  sovereign 
pretensions  had  come  to  be  mightier  than  even  Augus- 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  in 

tine  could  have  dreamed.  The  mediaeval  mind  accepted 
all  this  as  so  essentially  a  part  of  the  order  of  things  that 
without  it  the  world  would  have  been  emptied  as  of  light 
itself.  It  was  the  perfect  expression  of  central  aspects  of 
the  mediaeval  mind,  a  perfectly  logical  development  of 
tendencies,  which  gave  shape  to  mediaeval  Europe. 

None  the  less  there  had  been  from  the  very  first  other 
attitudes  and  tendencies.  Even  Augustine  himself  was 
mystic  as  well  as  imperialist ;  while  his  vision  of  the  City 
of  God  kindled  and  satisfied  his  imagination,  his  need  of 
the  presence  of  God  built  for  him  inner  shrines  of  mys- 
tical communion  where  he  knew  himself  directly  in  com- 
munion with  the  unmediated  divine,  and  there  found  his 
peace.  This  mystical  temper  underruns  the  whole 
mediaeval  hfe  and  finds,  from  time  to  time,  rare  and  dra- 
matic expression.  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  may  be  taken  as 
the  type  of  all  those  who  found  the  consummation  of  the 
life  of  the  spirit  in  their  own  souls  and  sought  the  imita- 
tion of  Christ  in  poverty,  humility  and  withdrawal  from 
the  world.  St.  Francis'  imitation  of  Christ  was  indeed  in 
part  the  imitation  of  what  was  incidental  in  the  Master's 
life — his  poverty,  his  unmarried  state  and  the  Hke — but 
along  with  all  that  went  the  imitation  of  much  that  was 
most  essential  in  the  Master's  life — his  simplicity,  his  un- 
worldliness,  his  utter  denial  of  machinery  and  elaborate 
methods  and  his  serene  trust  in  his  Father  God — a  trust 
which  lent  lyric  quality  to  the  utterances  of  the  best  loved 
of  all  the  saints,  as  it  gave  lyric  quality  to  the  utterances 
of  Christ.  It  is  part  of  the  deep  pity  of  things  that  St. 
Francis  himself  was  defeated  in  that  which  he  sought,  was 
compelled  to  organize  what  was  essentially  as  incapable 
of  organization  as  the  ecstasies  of  spring  mornings  or  the 
lights  which  lie  on  purple  hills,  and  was  himself  caught  in 


112      PILGRIMS  OP  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  processes  and  disciplines  of  his  Church  as  a  bird  in  the 
snare  of  the  fowler.  But  his  testimony  remains  and  we 
are  increasingly  able  to  detach  it  from  all  its  incidental 
aspects  and  so  to  possess  in  him  such  a  revelation  of  the 
inner  and  freer  aspects  of  the  mediaeval  soul  as  makes  us 
at  once  rich  and  glad. 

The  same  stern  genius  for  organization  which  did  not 
let  even  the  rarer  light  of  St.  Francis  and  his  kind  fall 
unregulated  across  a  shadowy  world,  regulated,  in  one 
form  or  another,  all  those  aspects  of  mediaeval  life  which 
sought  peace  in  withdrawal  from  the  world,  and  joy  in 
contemplation  and  meditation.  For  of  such,  I  assume  in 
its  beginnings,  monasticism  to  have  been:  it  was  the 
temper  of  those  who  sought  in  the  inner  life  that  peace 
which  the  world  cannot  give,  and  who  turned  rather  from 
the  restlessness,  the  strife  or  the  ambition  of  their  time 
to  the  sheltered  serenities  of  monastic  walls.  The  old 
monastic  organization  with  its  orders  and  its  disci- 
plines was  just  the  attempt  of  the  genius  of  the  Church 
to  deal  with  a  movement  which  was  contradictory 
enough — born  of  the  very  spirit  of  the  Church  and  yet 
alien  to  it.  Very  likely  such  regulation  was  necessary, 
for  the  motives  which  led  men  to  monasteries  were  so 
various  that  without  a  searching  discipline  monastic  life 
would  have  tragically  defeated  its  own  ends.  Indeed, 
from  time  to  time,  just  that  did  happen.  Oftener  still 
the  machinery  of  monastic  life  obscured  its  essential 
spirit  and  we  forget,  in  the  consideration  of  the  orders 
themselves,  what  soul  it  was  which  gave  the  orders  being ; 
what  spirit  it  was  which  they  themselves  were  meant  to 
shelter  and  enrich. 

It  is  the  service  of  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ"  to  have 
shown   us  the  monastic  temper  in    its   essential  purity. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  113 

The  gentle  soul  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  disentangled,  by 
no  logical  effort  but  by  the  power  of  its  own  clear  vision 
and  immediate  experiences,  all  that  was  inner  and  essen- 
tial from  all  that  was  external  and  incidental.  If  we  had 
no  other  source  of  information  we  should  strive  in  vain 
to  reconstruct  from  the  •'  Imitation  of  Christ "  the  discipHne 
and  movement  of  the  monastic  life.  Here  is  no  indica- 
tion of  gray-walled  cities  of  the  spirit,  of  such  institutions 
as  Clairvaux  or  Citeaux,  of  great  churches  which  sheltered 
the  shrines  of  the  saints,  built  by  the  devotion  of  multi- 
tudes through  the  continuing  centuries.  Here  is  no  in- 
dication of  fair  domains  embracing  the  best  lands  of 
Europe,  nor  of  the  feudal  relations  between  the  abbot 
and  his  tenants,  or  the  monks  and  their  poor.  Nor  is 
there  here  any  indication  either  of  the  play  of  ecclesias- 
tical poHtics,  or  of  unworthy  ambition,  or  of  gross  and 
sterile  Hves,  or  of  grievous  faults,  or  of  men  made  for 
other  and  sterner  things,  who  beat  themselves  against 
their  prison  walls  until  their  broken  Hves  were  ended  ;  nor 
of  the  withdrawal  of  multitudes  of  men  and  women,  who 
should  have  been  the  salt  of  the  earth,  from  home  and 
secular  administrations  and  the  blessed  upbuilding  of  a 
pure  and  wholesome  society.  Nothing,  I  say,  of  all  this 
— and  such  things  as  these  were  the  commonplace  of 
monastic  life — nothing  of  all  this  breathes  between  these 
serene  and  gentle  lines. 

The  "  Imitation  of  Christ"  uncovers  for  us  the  soul  of 
monasticism  in  its  best  estate  since  monasticism  was,  for 
the  mediaeval  mind,  the  very  imitation  of  Christ.  The 
world  which  was  just  beginning  to  end  when  Thomas  a 
Kempis  began  to  write  had  its  degrees  of  perfection.  The 
monk,  of  course,  was  put  first.  Had  he  not  wholly  de- 
voted himself  to  the  things  of  the  spirit  and  removed 


114      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

himself  wholly  from  the  world ;  was  he  not  sheltered 
from  the  strife  of  a  warring  time  and  free  from  the 
burdens  of  this  present  grievous  order  that  he  might  de- 
vote himself  wholly  to  his  soul's  salvation  ?  For  that  he 
was  far  removed  from  temptation ;  for  that  he  filled  his 
days  and  nights  with  prayers,  fastings  and  worshippings ; 
and  because  he  was  given  so  great  an  opportunity  for  the 
achievement  of  perfection,  perfection  was  asked  of  him 
in  return.  The  standards  to  which  the  world  held  him 
were  searching  and  high,  his  derelictions  were  not  lightly 
forgotten  and,  for  him,  the  rewards  of  heaven,  if  so  be  he 
were  true,  were  reverently  expected.  The  secular  clergy 
being  more  in  touch  with  the  world  and  therefore  more 
open  to  its  temptations  were  held  to  less  rigid  ideals  and 
judged  by  lower  standards;  their  faiUngs  and  frailties 
were  less  harshly  judged,  and  if  the  state  of  their  souls 
should  demand  a  period  of  purgatorial  cleansings,  parish- 
ioners, who  hoped  at  best  but  to  come  into  the  same 
state,  were  not  minded  to  judge  them  too  harshly.  Be- 
low or  to  one  side  were  all  the  men  and  women  who  car- 
ried on  the  affairs  of  the  world,  fought  its  battles,  ruled 
its  states,  ploughed  its  fields,  shaped  its  armour  or  wove 
its  cloth.  Much  was  allowed  to  them  for  the  world 
is  an  evil  place  and  they  who  dwell  therein  are  much 
subject  to  buffetings  and  temptations.  Nevertheless,  if 
only  for  the  sake  of  those  who  have  removed  them- 
selves from  the  world  the  world  must  make  a  shift  to  get 
on  and,  therefore,  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  were 
recognized  as  a  concession  at  once  to  the  weaknesses  of 
the  flesh  and  the  necessities  of  the  Church,  while  those 
who  thus  lived  and  loved  and  fought  could  not  in  the 
end  expect  much  but  a  long  sojourn  in  purgatory,  and 
indeed  were  happy  if  they  escaped  hell. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  115 

Such  a  scale  of  moral  values  must  be  judged  by  the 
fruits  of  it  and  the  necessities  which  drove  men  to  it.  It 
is  easy  to  see  now  what  elements  of  sterility — spiritual 
and  social — lay  in.  just  such  a  situation  as  this,  how  arti- 
ficial it  was  in  many  of  its  aspects,  how  it  exalted  the 
trivial  and  forgot  the  essential,  and  how,  for  a  thousand 
years,  it  complicated  the  ethical  and  social  situations  of 
Europe.  But  we  need  to  remember  too  all  the  qualities 
of  that  life  from  which  the  monastic  Hfe  had,  in  the  be- 
ginning, reacted.  It  would  have  been  quite  impossible 
at  the  beginning  of  the  monastic  period  to  have  carried 
its  essentials  over  into  the  secular  world  or  to  have 
offered  such  affiliations,  as  the  third  order  of  St.  Francis 
for  example,  to  workers  and  warriors,  husbands  and 
wives.  It  was  just  the  emphasis  of  monasticism  in  its 
better  parts  upon  the  hfe  of  the  spirit,  upon  chastity  and 
cleanliness  of  life,  which  made  it  possible  in  the  end  to 
take  these  virtues  over  into  a  world-order  which  was 
meant,  from  the  very  first,  to  be  the  real  field  of  their 
exercise.  It  was  the  monastic  exaltation  and  example 
of  chastity  for  almost  a  millennium  which  has  wrought 
the  noble  imperative  of  it  into  worthy  living,  always  and 
everywhere,  and  the  passion  for  it  into  all  sincere  and 
upright  souls,  even  though  we  have  come  to  see  with 
clear  vision  that  it  is  not  the  foe  of  the  great  holy  inti- 
macies of  life — nay,  that  in  the  great  holy  intimacies  of 
life  its  radiant  stainlessness  is  most  apparent.  It  has 
always  been  necessary  that  great  and  necessary  qualities 
of  the  soul  should  thus  be  sought  out  and  emphasized 
through  long  periods  of  time  and  to  the  exclusion  of 
many  counterbalancing  qualities,  to  the  end  that  they 
might  be  made  our  permanent  possession.  It  was  neces- 
sary then  that  those  mystical  qualities  of  devotion  and 


ii6      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

communion  which,  as  hght  across  stormy  seas,  qualified 
the  lawless  and  unholy  desires  of  men,  should  be  highly 
exalted,  set  apart  in  a  rare  and  commanding  loneUness. 

All  this  in  anticipation  of  a  time  when  society  should 
demand  other  and  more  inclusive  adjustments,  when  the 
great  common  interests  of  Ufe  should  take  to  themselves 
the  things  of  the  spirit  and  the  things  of  the  spirit 
should  take  to  themselves  the  great  common  interests  of 
life,  and  the  monastic  virtues  should  come  to  sit,  as 
they  were  always  meant  to  sit,  by  the  hearthstone,  and 
beautify,  as  they  were  always  meant  to  beautify,  social 
and  family  Hfe.  Life  is  always  richer  in  the  end  because 
for  a  little  we  have  underscored  some  single  aspect  of  it, 
since  life  in  the  end  always  comes  back  to  possess  its  own. 
But  in  taking  possession  of  her  own  life  does  not  undo 
the  past,  but  takes  over  into  her  own  holy  integrities,  not 
only  the  qualities  which  need  to  be  sociaHzed,  but  the 
emphases  which  such  qualities  have  gained  as  men  have 
set  them  apart  and  dwelt  much  upon  them.  Nothing 
less  than  that  long  emphasis  upon  religion  as  a  vocation, 
which  gives  colour  to  so  much  of  the  millennium  be- 
tween Augustine  and  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  make  all  vocations  religious  and 
to  bring  into  the  life  of  Europe  that  full  exaltation  of  the 
things  of  the  spirit  which  has  been  and  is  the  expression 
of  our  more  worthy  temper — the  revelation  of  our  more 
representative  moments. 

The  *'  Imitation  of  Christ "  then  is  the  voice  of  such  con- 
ceptions of  life  as  we  have  been  considering ;  it  voices 
the  monastic  ideal.  It  was  written — or  given  final  form — 
by  a  man  who  thought  of  religion  as  a  vocation  and 
from  the  monastic  point  of  view.  It  seeks  the  perfection 
of  the  spiritual  hfe  in  the  perfect  life  of  the  spirit  and 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  117 

conceives  the  life  of  the  spirit  as  lonely  and  apart  and  it 
voices  all  this  just  as  all  this  was  about  to  be  lost.  That, 
also,  has  been  always  true.  Whatever  has  come  to  be 
fully  conscious  of  itself  and,  after  deep  meditation,  has 
found  for  itself  a  perfect  and  adequate  expression,  gives 
testimony  thereby  that  its  empire  is  ending,  its  sun  is 
setting.  It  is  only  at  the  end  of  the  day  that  we  cast  up 
the  day's  accounts ;  it  is  only  when  life  has  been  sub- 
stantially lived  that  we  fully  express  its  spirit.  When 
we  begin  to  meditate  we  have  temporarily  ceased  to  act ; 
when  we  begin  to  sum  up  our  meditations  we  are  pro- 
nouncing judgment  upon  ourselves.  So  the  "  Imitation 
of  Christ"  marks  the  passing  of  the  monastic  order. 
While  the  monk  who  wrote  it  shaped  its  pages  in  his 
quiet  cell  the  tumult  of  a  world  in  travail  must  have 
reached  his  ears.  As  he  looked  out  of  the  arching 
windows  of  the  scriptorium  to  judge  by  the  sunset  what 
the  morrow  was  likely  to  be  he  must,  if  he  had  been  at 
all  able  to  discern  the  signs  of  the  times,  have  seen  the 
portent  of  a  stormy  morning  soon  to  arise  upon  the 
Church  and  the  orders  which  he  loved.  In  his  lonely 
moments  as  he  lingered  in  the  gathering  shadows,  come 
silently  in  to  possess  the  spaces  of  the  cloister  or  the 
cathedral,  he  must  have  felt  that  the  virtues  which  he 
was  chronicling  were  more  and  more  wanting  in  the  life 
which  was  so  dear  to  him  ;  while  he  exalted  the  virtues 
of  the  monastic  life,  monasticism  itself  was  being  debased. 
Now  the  "  Imitation  "  is  not  only  the  voice  of  mediaeval 
devotion  but  it  is  the  voice,  at  least  in  its  deeper,  truer 
parts,  of  a  school  of  devotion.  It  belongs  by  all  its 
deeper  implications  to  the  fellowship  of  the  mystics.  By 
the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  the  true  Catholicism  of 
the  Latin  Church  had  been  wholly  lost.     Those  who 


Ii8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

emphasized  the  outer  and  those  who  emphasized  the 
inner  Hfe,  even  though  they  bore  one  name,  were  still  so 
essentially  separated  that  any  hope  of  reintegration  was 
thereafter  impossible.  Here  is  a  schism  more  divisive 
than  the  great  schism  and  indeed  antedating  it,  pro- 
founder  than  the  separation  of  the  Church  into  its  re- 
formed and  unreformed  branches,  for  the  roots  of  these 
differences  are  deep  as  human  nature  itself.  We  shall 
consider  mediaeval  mysticism  more  at  length  in  connec- 
tion with  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  ;  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  whole  mediaeval  world  was  underrun  by  a  quiet 
and  half-hidden  spirit  of  extreme  emphasis  upon  the 
inner  Hfe.  Like  an  underground  river  this  movement 
fertilized  institutions  which  seemed  far  enough  removed 
from  its  influences  and  gave  quality  to  whatever,  on  the 
whole,  was  most  distinctive  in  the  whole  mediaeval 
period.  It  found  various  expressions  for  itself,  although 
it  was  indeed  impatient  of  organization  and  external 
direction,  and  it  spoke  through  a  multitude  of  voices. 
Indeed  how  manifold  its  expressions  were  we  are  just 
beginning  to  find  out.  The  "  Imitation  "  although  it  does 
not  indeed  claim  to  speak  for  any  body  of  mystics  is, 
none  the  less,  to  repeat,  so  saturated  in  its  better  part 
with  mystical  qualities  that  we  cannot  go  wrong  in  dis- 
covering here  something  more  than  the  work  of  a  single 
author.  The  "  Imitation  "  is  a  redaction,  gathering  into  a 
final  and  very  perfect  form,  much  which  was  being  said 
and  dwelt  upon  in  all  monasteries  of  central  Europe  and 
much  indeed  which  was  being  said  and  dwelt  upon  far, 
far  outside  monastery  walls. 

This  brings  us  directly  to  the  question  as  to  the  author- 
ship of  the  "  Imitation  " — for  long  an  open  question. 
There  is  a  whole  literature  upon  the  subject  and  any  discus- 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  119 

sion  of  the  arguments  advanced  demands  a  scholarship 
which  only  the  specialist  can  claim  and  an  examination  of 
detail  neither  desirable  nor  possible  in  these  studies.  No 
more  suggestive  and  illuminating  consideration  of  the 
forces  and  conditions  to  which  we  owe  the  "  Imitation  " 
has  been  made  than  that  of  Michelet  in  his  tenth 
book  of  the  "  Histoire  de  France  "  ;  for  he  tells  us  the 
"  Imitation  "  is  really  the  voice  of  that  profound  hope- 
lessness which  covered  the  Europe  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury as  a  flood.  This  book  of  the  life  of  the  spirit  was 
born  in  the  seeming  death  of  society.  The  world  had 
apparently  come  to  its  term  ;  all  which  makes  life  in  any 
fashion  apparently  worth  living  had  failed.  That  has 
already  been  intimated  in  these  studies.  Men  were  dead 
of  necessity  to  joy,  prosperity  and  the  wholesome  vigour 
of  life';  there  was  but  one  thing  left,  to  die  also  to  pride 
and  desire  and  to  begin  to  live  in  God.  We  can  see  now 
that  such  death  had  in  it  the  germs  of  an  immense  new- 
ness of  life.  A  Europe  so  reduced  was  already,  though 
she  knew  it  not,  upon  the  threshold  of  a  marvellous  res- 
urrection. It  is  one  of  the  most  significant  facts  in  all 
our  history  that  such  a  resurrection  began  in  the  deep 
things  of  the  spirit.  Dead  to  so  much  of  the  world 
through  the  compulsions  of  its  misery  and  unhappiness 
the  devouter  souls  of  the  fifteenth  century  chose  will- 
ingly to  die  to  the  rest,  to  find  their  peace  in  the  crucifix- 
ion of  self  and  their  joy  in  the  imitation  of  their  Lord. 
Then  and  there,  by  that  paradox  which  Jesus  is  always 
holding  before  us  and  which  we  are  so  slow  in  receiving, 
they  who  had  lost  their  lives  found  them  in  the  very  act 
of  losing  them.  In  the  shadowed  depths,  out  of  which 
the  '*  Imitation "  issued,  Europe  began  to  climb  anew 
towards  the  light. 


120      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

"  The  '  Imitation  of  Christ/  "  says  Michelet,  *•  after 
the  Gospel  the  most  wonderful  of  Christian  books,  is 
come  as  the  Gospel  came  out  of  the  womb  of  death. 
Out  of  the  death  of  the  ancient  world  came  the  Gospel ; 
out  of  the  death  of  mediaevalism  the  *  Imitation.' 
These  two  dying  worlds  have  borne  such  germs  of  life." 
The  "  Imitation  "  suddenly  becomes  a  new  literary  fact. 
*•  The  first  manuscript  of  the  '  Imitation,' "  and  here  I 
quote  Michelet  again,  "  appears  to  be  dated  from  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  century  or  the  commencemen:  of  the 
fifteenth.  By  the  year  142 1  there  were  numberless 
copies.  We  find  twenty,  for  example,  in  a  single  monas- 
tery. The  new-born  art  of  printing  principally  employed 
itself  in  the  reproduction  of  the  *  Imitation.'  There  are 
2,000  Latin  editions,  1,000  French;  the  French  have 
made  sixty  translations  of  it,  the  Italians  thirty." '  A 
book  which  within  twenty  years  and  under  the  most  diffi- 
cult circumstances  secured  such  a  response  for  itself  as 
the  "  Imitation  "  might  well  seem  to  have  the  spiritual 
needs  of  contemporaneous  society  for  its  creator.  No 
wonder  that  each  people  claims  it  for  its  own.  More 
than  that  the  book  is  claimed,  not  only  by  the  nations, 
but  by  the  centuries.  It  did  indeed  "  break  out "  in  the 
fifteenth  century  but  there  are  anticipations  of  it  in  the 
thirteenth  and  creative  echoes  of  it  in  the  sixteenth.  All 
this  is  but  one  more  testimony  to  the  inclusive  and  far- 
reaching  attitudes  of  life  of  which  it  was  the  voice,  to 
which  it  made  its  appeal.  It  is  not  likely,  then,  that  the 
author  did  more  than  finally  to  put  into  form  what  was 
all  about  him  in  a  pregnant  and  fragmentary  way. 
There  is  a  true  sense  in  which  the  man  who  speaks  for 
any  great  age  or  movement  is  robbed  of  originality  by 

*  Michelet,  "  Ilistoire  de  France,"  Vol.  6,  Book  lo. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  121 

the  very  vastness  of  that  to  which  he  gives  final  expres- 
sion. But  all  this  does  not  diminish,  it  rather  increases 
his  glory.  What  we  clearly  allow  to  Homer,  Shake- 
speare and  even  Dante  we  may  well  allow  to  the  author 
of  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ."  He  did  but  give  form  to 
what  pressed  upon  him  from  every  side  and  a  single  and 
far  carrying  utterance  to  voices  which  prayed  or  wept  or 
confessed  or  aspired  in  all  the  hidden  and  half  desolate 
places  of  the  spiritual  life  of  his  time. 

Ampere  has  summed  all  this  up  in  a  sentence  so  signif- 
icant as  to  be  more  than  worth  quoting.  "  There  were," 
he  says,  "  in  the  middle  age  two  existences :  the  one  of 
the  warrior,  the  other  of  the  monk.  On  one  side  the 
camp  and  the  combat ;  on  the  other  side  prayer  and  the 
cloister.  The  warrior  had  his  spokesman  in  the  whole 
literature  of  chivalry ;  those  who  wore  away  their  lives 
in  the  cloister  had  need  also  to  express  themselves. 
They  gave  voice  to  their  dreams  and  their  solitary  sor- 
rows, softened  by  religion  ;  and  who  knows  if  the  '  Imi- 
tation '  was  not  the  inner  epic  of  the  monastic  Hfe,  if  it 
has  not  taken  shape  little  by  little,  cast  and  recast,  to  be- 
come at  last  a  collective  work  of  mediaeval  monasticism, 
which  so  bequeaths  to  us  its  profoundest  thought  and  its 
most  glorious  movement."  ' 

The  "  Imitation "  then  is  the  inner  epic  of  monasti- 
cism ;  an  epic  of  quietness  and  gentleness,  yet  not  without 
its  intimation  of  sieges  and  battles,  bitter  conflicts,  tragic 
defeats,  sudden  deliverances,  all  carried  out  upon  the 
table-lands  of  the  soul  and  behind  the  shelter  of  gray 
monastery  walls.  The  warriors  of  that  cruel  time  who 
came  and  went  in  their  marchings  and  fightings  and  their 
plunderings  may  well  have  scorned,  as  they  sang  the 
*  Michelet,  •'  Histoire  de  France,"  Vol.  6,  p.  136. 


122      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

death  of  Roland  with  the  peers  of  Charlemagne  at  Ronce- 
vaux  about  their  camp-fires,  the  placid  and  uneventful 
life  of  the  monks,  the  sound  of  whose  chantings  may 
have  reached  them  even  as  they  sat  and  sang.  But  who 
knows  whether  in  the  sight  of  God  the  monks  were  not 
also  fighting  as  hard  battles,  experiencing  as  crushing  de- 
feats or  as  splendid  victories,  living  or  dying  as  gloriously 
as  any  knight  upon  any  boasted  field. 

There  was,  none  the  less,  need  that  this  epic  of  the 
mediaeval  soul  should  somehow  be  given  final  form  and 
it  is  more  than  hkely,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  that 
Thomas  a  Kempis  did  just  that.  He  was  born  in  i  379 
or  1380  in  one  of  the  Rhine  provinces  under  the  author- 
ity of  the  diocese  of  Cologne.  His  father  was  a  peasant ; 
his  mother  the  keeper  of  the  village  school.  Thomas 
was  the  youngest  son  and  showed  such  aptitude  for 
learning  that  he  was  advanced  as  his  people  were  able  to 
advance  him.  He  lost  his  name  in  the  process,  for  when 
he  had  gone  away  to  school  he  was  no  longer  Thomas 
Hammerken,  but  Thomas  from  Kempen,  and  so  presently 
Thomas  a  Kempis.  The  influences  which  played  upon 
the  boy  in  this,  his  formative  period,  were  various  and 
fine.  The  traditions  of  the  mystics,  new  ideals  of  sound 
scholarship  and  practical  benefactions,  all  had  their  part  in 
shaping  the  quiet  scholar,  for  he  was  a  quiet  scholar. 
He  liked  books,  he  said,  and  quiet  corners  all  his  days 
and  upon  conversion  he  turned  to  the  monastic  life  as  to 
a  vocation  to  which  he  was  called  by  all  the  inner  and 
outer  forces  of  his  soul  and  his  world.  It  was  given  him 
to  live  quietly  in  his  monastic  vocation  for  a  long,  long 
lifetime;  for  he  took  his  vows  in  1407  and  died  in  1471. 

These  were  stirring  years  enough.  While  Thomas  a 
Kempis  was  in  the  way  of  being  ordained  and  was  rejoic- 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  123 

ing  in  his  fully  acquired  priesthood  all  the  world  was 
gathered  together  at  Constance  for  the  reforming  of  the 
Church  in  head  and  members  and  for  the  purging  it  of 
that  pestilent  heretic,  John  Huss.  While  the  gentle  soul 
of  Thomas  rejoiced  in  his  little  new  monastic  honour — 
for  he  had  been  made  sub-prior — the  pope  had  pro- 
claimed a  new  crusade  against  Bohemia,  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  men  had  been  poured  into  that  devoted 
country  and  the  very  foundations  of  society  were  being 
shaken.  These  were  the  days  when  Cosimo  de  Medici  ruled 
in  Florence,  and  in  gardens  looking  down  upon  the  Arno 
all  that  made  the  Renaissance  wonderful  and  Florence 
great  was  gathered  together  in  fellowships  where  every 
name  is  classic  and  where  the  long  Italian  afternoons  were 
passed  in  such  high  intensity  of  life  as  the  world  had  not 
known  since  the  days  of  Athens. 

These  are  the  years  in  which  France,  distracted  and 
harried,  seemed  hopelessly  fallen  from  her  high  estate, 
when  her  own  sons  joined  with  the  English  to  lower  the 
lilies  in  shame  to  the  red  mire  of  shameful  battle-fields, 
and  when  a  peasant  girl,  counselled  by  voices  whose 
wisdom  she  never  doubted  and  led  by  lights  to  which  she 
was  always  obedient,  put  to  shame  the  unworthy  leaders 
of  her  people,  lifted  the  Hlies  from  the  mire,  saw  her  king 
crowned  in  the  great  cathedral  at  Rheims,  and  died  her- 
self in  the  market-place  at  Rouen — all  this  while  Thomas  a 
Kempis  might  have  been  considering  the  beginnings  of 
the  "  Imitation."  An  old  order  was  dying,  a  new  was 
being  born.  John  Gutenberg  had  set  up  his  printing- 
press  at  Mainz.  Constantinople  had  fallen  and  the  star 
and  crescent  had  displaced  the  cross  on  the  domes  of  St. 
Sophia.  Greek  scholars  had  brought  a  new  language  to 
Western  Europe  and  art  had  begun  to  have  its  new  birth. 


124      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Portuguese  sailors  were  insistently  questioning  the 
mystery  of  seas  heretofore  undiscovered.  Christopher 
Columbus  was  beginning  to  dream  those  dreams  which 
should  open  the  doors  of  a  new  world  to  the  old.  And 
all  the  while  Thomas  was  about  his  copying,  his 
chronicles,  his  tracts,  his  sermons,  his  letters  and  his 
hymns,  "  a  httle  fresh-coloured  man,  with  soft  brown 
eyes,  who  had  a  habit  of  stealing  away  to  his  cubiculum 
whenever  the  conversation  became  too  lively ;  somewhat 
bent,  for  it  is  on  record  that  he  stood  upright  when  the 
psalms  were  chanted,  and  even  rose  on  his  tiptoes  with 
his  face  turned  upwards  ;  genial,  if  shy,  and  occasionally 
given  to  punning ;  a  man  who  perhaps  led  the  most 
placid  uneventful  life  of  all  men  who  ever  wrote  a  book 
or  scribbled  letters,"  while  a  world  was  in  travail  with  a 
double  agony — the  death  of  the  old  and  the  birth  of  the 
new. 

The  imitation  of  Christ,  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  then 
conceived  and  expressed  it,  consists  essentially  in  a 
separation  from  the  externalities  of  the  world,  the  nar- 
rowing of  human  relations  and  the  searching  limitation  of 
the  objects  either  of  ambition  or  desire.  On  the  other 
hand  it  exalts  all  qualities  of  awe  and  reverence,  of  devo- 
tion and  mystic  brooding.  It  is  a  study  in  proportion. 
The  qualities  which  the  conduct  of  businesses,  the  order- 
ing of  poHcies,  the  establishment  of  dominions,  the  enact- 
ment of  laws  call  out  are  dismissed  as  sterile  and  deceit- 
ful, while  all  those  qualities  which  make  for  detachment, 
humility,  contempt  of  the  vanities  of  the  world,  and  the 
exaltation  of  the  Unseen  and  Eternal  are  set  in  the  places 
of  desire  and  are  made  administrators  of  the  will.  There 
are,  indeed,  in  the  *'  Imitation  of  Christ  "  echoes  of  voices 
with  which  Thomas  a  Kempis  could  not  have  been  famil- 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  12^ 

iar ;  intimations  of  older  interpretations  of  life  whose  rela- 
tion to  his  own  interpretation  he  could  not  have  suspected. 
An  element  of  stoicism  enters  into  his  whole  scheme. 
Marcus  Aurelius  and  Thomas  a  Kempis  would  have  had 
much  in  common ;  could  they  have  sat  together  some 
quiet  night,  under  the  stars  before  the  imperial  tent  on 
the  frontiers  of  the  empire,  the  Christian  would  have 
found,  where  he  did  not  dream  they  existed,  sources  of 
his  gospel  in  the  life  of  the  pagan,  the  pagan  would  have 
found  unexpected  echoes  of  his  own  teaching  in  the 
meditations  of  the  monk,  and  together  they  would  have 
held  high  converse,  agreeing  chiefly  in  this :  their 
catalogue  of  vanities.  "  It  is  vanity,"  Thomas  a  Kempis 
would  have  said,  speaking  gently,  "  to  seek  after  perish- 
ing riches,  and  to  trust  in  them  ;  to  strive  after  honours, 
and  to  climb  to  high  degree,  to  follow  the  desires  of  the 
flesh,  and  to  labour  for  that  for  which  thou  must  after- 
wards suffer  grievous  punishment.  It  is  vanity  to  desire 
to  Hve  long,  and  not  to  care  to  Hve  well ;  to  mind  only 
this  present  life,  and  not  to  make  provision  for  those 
things  which  are  to  come  ;  to  love  that  which  speedily 
passeth  away."  '  Aye,  the  emperor  would  have  answered, 
"  soon  will  the  earth  cover  us  all :  then  the  earth  too  will 
change,  and  the  things  also  which  result  from  change  will 
continue  to  change  forever,  and  these  again  forever. 
For  if  a  man  reflects  on  the  changes  and  transformations 
which  follow  one  another  like  wave  after  wave  and  their 
rapidity  he  will  despise  everything  which  is  perishable."  ^ 
"  Well  then,  man,"  the  emperor  would  have  added,  "  do 
what  nature  now  requires.     Set  thyself  in  motion,  it  is  in 

*  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  I,  Chapter  i, 

'  "  The   Meditations  of  Marcus   Aurelius,"  Book   IX,  Chapter  xxviii 
(Long's  translation). 


126      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

thy  power,  and  do  not  look  about  thee  to  see  if  any  one 
will  observe  it."  *  "  Still  there  is,  oh  emperor,"  the 
monk  would  have  rejoined,  "  a  truer  conclusion  than  that 
vi'hich  thou  thyself  hast  drawn.  True  all  is  vanity,  but 
there  is  one  exercise  of  the  soul  which  is  not  vanity  and 
in  which  all  thy  hope  must  lie :  *  All  is  vanity,  except  to 
love  God,  and  Him  only  to  serve.'  "  ^  Much  else  also 
they  might  have  said  between  them  ;  the  "  Meditation  " 
and  the  "  Imitation  "  sound  a  common  note  yet  always 
with  this  difference  :  the  "  Imitation  "  is  rooted  in  deeper 
spiritual  securities  and  finds,  in  "  The  Royal  Way  of  the 
Holy  Cross,"  a  light  which  the  emperor  was  sadly  want- 
ing and  for  the  vi^ant  of  which  he  was  halted  even  though 
he  did  not  go  astray. 

The  "  Imitation  of  Christ "  is,  in  the  thought  of  Thomas 
a  Kempis  and  his  kind,  to  pour  contempt  on  all  the  vic- 
tories of  the  world.  We  are,  they  said  in  substance,  shut 
up  in  our  lives  to  a  hopeless  duahsm.  Two  empires  are 
contending  for  us — the  world  and  the  spirit — and  there 
can  be  no  peace  between  them.  The  victory  of  the 
world  is  the  defeat  of  the  spirit ;  the  victory  of  the  spirit 
the  defeat  of  the  world.  If  we  grant  such  premises  it  is 
not  easy  to  avoid  the  conclusions  which  follow.  Indeed, 
many  of  the  counsels  of  the  "  Imitation  "  are  not  to  be  es- 
caped, whether  we  grant  its  premises  or  not,  but  the 
validity  of  its  judgment  upon  life  as  a  whole  depends 
upon  the  validity  of  its  premises.  These  are  considera- 
tions which  naturally  adjourn  themselves  to  the  end  of 
the  study,  but  at  least  we  shall  understand  the  **  Imitation  " 
more  clearly  if  we   begin  by   recognizing  the  sense  of 

^  "  The    Meditations   of   Marcus    Aurelius,"    Book   IX,  Chapter  xxix 
(Long's  translation). 

'  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  I,  Chapter  i. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  127 

hopeless  antagonism  between  the  ideals  of  the  world  and 
the  spirit  which  breathes  through  its  pages  and  defines, 
as  vanities  to  be  escaped,  occupations  and  relationships 
in  which  multitudes  of  men  and  women  have  always 
found  joy  and  fullness  of  life.  That  imitation  of  Christ 
which  begins  with  the  contempt  of  the  vanities  of  the 
world  must  issue  in  humility.  No  one  may  deny  the 
wisdom  of  this  central  counsel.  The  shadow  of  our- 
selves darkens  too  often  the  paths  along  which  we  press 
and  in  that  shadow  we  too  often  stumble. 

There  is  a  shrewd  note  about  many  of  the  counsels  to 
humility,  although  the  shrewdness,  one  may  well  believe, 
was  no  virtue  for  Thomas  a  Kempis.  "  Affect  not,"  he 
says,  ♦'  to  be  overwise,  but  rather  acknowledge  thine  own 
ignorance.  If  thou  wilt  know  or  learn  anything  profit- 
ably, desire  to  be  unknown,  and  to  be  little  esteemed. 
It  is  great  wisdom  and  perfection  to  think  nothing  of 
ourselves,  and  to  think  always  well  and  highly  of  others. 
We  are  all  frail,"  is  the  charitable  conclusion,  "  but  do 
thou  esteem  none  more  frail  than  thyself."  *  It  is  from 
such  points  of  departure  as  these  that  we  come  into 
the  clear  perception  of  truth.  Surely  there  is  a  wisdom 
independent  of  changing  faiths  and  changing  authorities 
in  this.  '*  The  more  a  man  is  at  one  within  himself,  and 
becometh  of  single  heart,  so  much  the  more  and  higher 
things  doth  he  understand  without  labours  ;  for  that  he 
receiveth  the  light  of  wisdom  from  above."  ^  What  is 
all  this  but  to  say  :  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart :  for 
they  shall  see  God  "  ?  There  is  a  relation  between  our 
attitudes  and  tempers  and  our  vision  of  truth  which  we 
ought  never  to  be  forgetting.     These  counsels  hold  for 

^  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Rook  I,  Chapter  ii. 
»  Ibid.y  Book  I,  Chapter  iii. 


128      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  laboratory  as  they  hold  for  places  of  prayer  and 
meditation.  Here,  also,  is  the  secret  of  serene  effective- 
ness in  life.  "  A  pure,  single,  and  stable  spirit  is  not 
distracted,  though  it  be  employed  in  many  works ;  for 
that  it  doeth  all  to  the  honour  of  God,  and  being  at  rest 
within,  seeketh  not  itself  in  anything  it  doth."  * 

With  all  his  so  sweet  and  reasonable  spirit,  Thomas 
cannot  forbear  to  gird  at  the  vain  learning  of  the  world. 
"  How  many  perish  by  reason  of  vain  learning  of  this 
world,  who  take  little  care  of  the  serving  of  God."  ^  But 
we  forgive  him,  so  rebuking  what  after  all  deserves  to  be 
rebuked,  for  the  sake  of  the  noble  wisdom  with  which 
he  closes  his  exhortation.  "  He  is  truly  learned,  that 
doeth  the  will  of  God,  and  forsaketh  his  own  will."^  If 
the  will  of  God  be  broadened  to  the  amplitudes  of  its  full 
revelation,  if  the  will  of  God  be  made  resident  in  the  laws 
of  the  heavens,  the  ordered  relationships  of  mathematics, 
the  creations  and  dissolutions  of  the  chemical  laboratory, 
the  harmonies  of  music,  the  veracities  of  noble  speech, 
and  the  fruitfulness  of  disciplined  lives,  then  "  he  is  truly 
learned,  that  doeth  the  will  of  God,"  and  the  end  of  all 
science  is  the  apprehension  of  the  method  and  order  of 
the  Eternal. 

The  notes  with  which  the  "  Imitation  "  begins — contempt 
of  the  world,  thinking  humbly  of  oneself,  and  discerning 
truth  through  humility — are  much  sounded  in  the  pages 
which  follow,  and  variously  and  fruitfully  combined. 
The  roots  of  wisdom  and  forethought  in  our  actions,  of 
peace  and  content,  of  obedience,  of  avoiding  many  words, 
of  taking  profitable  advantage  of  adversity,  are  all  to  be 
sought  in  this  same  humility  which  esteems  the  things 

»  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  I,  Chapter  iii. 

2  J  Sic/.,  Book  I,  Chapter  iii.  ^  /^/,/^  1300^  j^  Chapter  iii. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  129 

of  the  world  as  of  little  worth,  which  is  always  gentle, 
teachable,  which  waits  much  upon  God,  buffets  the 
urgencies  of  the  body,  does  not  glory  in  wealth  or 
friends,  but  in  God  alone,  lays  not  its  heart  open  to 
every  one,  keeps  company  with  the  humble  and  single- 
hearted,  and  desires  to  be  famihar  with  God  and  His 
angels. 

Even  the  Scriptures  themselves  are  to  be  read  in  this 
same  spirit  of  humility,  simplicity  and  faithfulness,  nor 
ever  in  any  deceitful  desire  for  the  repute  of  learning. 
Obedience  is,  in  the  monastic  definition  of  life,  always 
the  sister  virtue  of  humility,  and  obedience  is  much  and 
searchingly  dwelt  upon.  "  Go  whither  thou  wilt,  thou 
shalt  find  no  rest,  but  in  humble  subjection  under  the 
government  of  a  superior.  Many  have  deceived  them- 
selves, imagining  to  find  happiness  in  change."  *  There 
are  few  admonitions  between  the  covers  of  the  book 
more  instinct  with  the  monastic  temper  than  these  half 
dozen  short  lines.  It  is  this  temper  which  has  made  the 
Latin  Catholic  Church  possible  and  which  has  in  return 
been  continually  exalted  in  the  disciplines  and  ideals  of 
the  Church.  It  is  this  temper  which,  from  the  very  first, 
has  turned  men,  wanting  in  strength  and  courage  for  the 
diviner  adventures  of  life,  to  whatever  havens  of  shel- 
tered peace  they  might  find.  It  is  this  temper  which  led 
Newman  and  his  friends  out  of  Protestantism  and  into 
Catholicism.  It  is  this  temper  which  makes  the  weak 
and  the  restless  to-day  so  strangely  hospitable  to  any 
bizarre  but  dogmatic  creed  whose  authoritative  note  stills 
all  questions,  or  to  :uiy  unworthy  leader  who  promises 
to  become  at  once  the  pilot  and  captain  of  their  salva- 
tion.    A  temper  so  persistent  and  many-sided  in  its  ex- 

*  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  I,  Chapter  ix. 


ISO      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

pressions  must  be  a  real  constituent  of  the  soul,  its 
exercise  must  be  allowed  for,  its  needs  ought  surely  to 
be  met. 

These,  the  shelter  seekers,  are  never  rich  in  the  brave 
and  more  dramatic  qualities  of  the  human  spirit ;  they  do 
not  sail  untravelled  seas,  discover  waiting  continents, 
build  new  roads  for  truth,  let  the  light  into  regions  of 
darkness,  blaze  the  trails  of  science,  philosophy,  or  give 
new  meanings  to  faith,  but  none  the  less,  in  their  shel- 
tered quietness,  they  are  the  seers  of  such  visions  as  would 
darken  our  world  were  they  wholly  withdrawn.  They 
feed  into  the  restless  turbulence  of  our  world  the  waters 
of  quiet  meditation  and  call  to  us  who  are  committed  to 
steep  ascents  or  stormy  seas,  that  mayhap  the  thing 
which  we  seek  is  nearer  home  than  we  have  dreamed. 
The  men  of  action  and  the  men  of  meditation,  the  men 
of  sheltered  harbours  and  the  men  whose  spirits  drive 
them  across  the  open  seas  always  find  it  hard  to  under- 
stand one  another,  though  there  is  a  possible  reconcilia- 
tion of  contentions  so  seemingly  opposed  upon  higher 
levels  than  either  commonly  attains.  There  is,  indeed, 
no  rest  but  in  humble  subjection  to  the  government  of  a 
superior,  but  the  only  pronouncement  of  authority  final 
and  august  enough  to  rule  us  all  and  still,  to  a  holy  peace, 
our  troubled  seas,  must  be  through  the  voices  of  truth 
and  goodness,  speaking  in  the  wide  agreements  of  those 
who  have  searched  and  tested  them.  There  is  a  dis- 
ciplined consensus  of  opinion  firmly  established  in  some 
regions,  tentative  in  others,  and  prophetic  in  all,  which 
offers  to  all  adventurous  spirits  the  challenge  of  the  un- 
charted, and  to  all  timorous  souls  tested  securities,  but 
the  expression  of  such  authorities  as  these  is  more  and 
more   in  the  scientific,  ethical  or  religious  consciousness 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  131 

and  less  and  less  in  institutions  and  hierarchies  ;  mind 
and  conscience  supply  their  thrones  of  administration. 
Dante  was  wiser  than  Thomas  a  Kempis  and  at  the 
same  time  more  faithful  to  the  true  spirit  of  the  «'  Imita- 
tion" than  Thomas  himself  when  he  conceives  himself, 
upon  the  thresholds  of  the  Earthly  Paradise,  dismissed  by 
Virgil,  as  free  in  his  obedience  and  nobly  obedient  in 
his  freedom. 

*'  Expect  no  more 
Sanction  of  warning  voice  or  sign  from  me, 
Free  of  thy  arbitrament  to  choose, 
Discreet,  judicious.     To  distrust  thy  sense 
Were  henceforth  error.     I  invest  thee  then 
With  crown  and  mitre,  sovereign  o'er  thyself." 

The  touch  of  the  "  Imitation  "  is,  of  course,  surest  in  its 
chosen  field  ;  the  disciplines,  protestations  and  assurances 
of  the  inner  life.  The  monk  was  much  schooled  as  to  all 
the  subtle  guises  which  temptation  assumes  and  as  con- 
stantly drilled  in  all  the  approved  forms  of  resistance. 
Here  he  speaks  as  a  wise  physician  of  the  soul,  and 
without  doubt  out  of  much  painful  introspection  and  mov- 
ing experiences.  The  very  roots  of  temptation  must  be 
plucked  out.  "  The  beginning  of  all  evil  temptations  is 
inconstancy  of  mind,  and  small  confidence  in  God."  We 
must  be  watchful,  especially  in  the  beginning  of  the 
temptation ;  for  the  enemy  is  then  more  easily  overcome. 
Withstand  the  beginnings  :  the  remedy  is  applied  too 
late,  when  the  evil  has  grown  strong  through  long  delay. 
**  For  first  there  cometh  to  the  mind  a  bare  thought  of  evil, 
then  a  strong  imagination  thereof,  afterwards  delight,  and 
evil  motion,  and  then  consent."^  Temptation  then  is  to 
1 "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  I,  Chapter  xiii. 


132      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

be  overcome  in  the  realms  of  imagination  and  desire.  If 
our  broodings  and  meditations  are  kept  clean,  temptation 
will  not  so  much  as  shape  itself.  Like  the  fabrication  of 
clouds  above  the  level  floors  of  the  sea  the  mists  and  faint 
prophecies  of  the  storms  of  temptation  rise  through  our 
broodings  and  our  meditations,  and  though  they  be  at 
first  so  tenuous  as  to  be  scattered  by  the  rising  breath  of 
holy  purposes  and  the  direction  of  our  thoughts  to  un- 
stained and  rightful  themes,  yet  in  the  end,  if  we  aug- 
ment them  by  imagination  and  reenforce  them  by  desire, 
and  let  them  have  their  way  with  us,  they  will  drive  down 
upon  us  with  the  tempest's  staggering  shock  and  we  shall 
be  rarely  fortunate  if  we  do  not  make  shipwreck  of  this 
or  that  interest  of  our  lives,  or  even  of  life  itself. 

We  should  expect,  of  course,  that  Thomas  a  Kempis 
would  call  those  to  whom  he  wrote  to  meditate  much 
on  the  example  of  the  holy  fathers,  and  indeed  he 
makes  out  a  most  formidable  catalogue  of  their  virtues 
and  their  victories.  The  eighteenth  chapter  of  the  first 
book  of  the  "  Imitation  "  reads  like  the  eleventh  chap- 
ter of  Hebrews.  Very  likely  the  fathers  had,  in  the 
days  of  their  flesh,  no  such  excess  of  zeal,  humility 
and  righteousness  as  the  *•  Imitation  "  attaches  to  them. 
Thomas  a  Kempis  is  not  a  good  witness  to  all  the  quali- 
ties of  the  lives  of  the  fathers,  but  he  is  a  good  witness  to 
what  the  monks  must  have  talked  about  in  those  times 
when  their  silences  could  be  broken,  and  the  things 
upon  which  they  must  have  meditated  in  those  other 
times  when  their  lips  were  sealed. 

*•  Life  in  a  Religious  Community "  was  not  always 
without  its  difficulties,  if  we  are  to  accept  the  testimony 
of  the  short  chapter  so  headed.  The  constant  contact 
of  a  small  group  of  men,  the  routine  of  whose  days  was 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  133 

unrelieved  and  who  were  never  saved  from  themselves  by 
the  demands  of  vaster  interests  or  the  unforeseen  contin- 
gencies of  life  was  without  doubt  productive  of  much 
wearing  friction,  of  petty  jealousies  and  antagonisms 
from  which  there  was  no  outer  deliverance.  The  monks 
must  upon  occasion  have  grown  weary  of  the  cowled 
faces  of  their  brethren  and  the  biting  words  of  the 
*•  Soliloquy  of  the  Spanish  Cloister  "  are  without  doubt 
much  more  than  a  poet's  mordant  fancy. 

*'  G-r-r-r — there  go,  my  heart's  abhorrence  ! 
Water  your  damned  flower  pots,  do  ! 
If  hate  killed  men,  Brother  Lawrence, 
God's  blood,  would  not  mine  kill  you  !  " 

"  It  is  no  small  matter,"  we  are  told,  "  to  dwell  in  a  re- 
ligious community,  or  monastery,  to  hold  thy  place 
there  without  offense,  and  to  continue  faithful  even  unto 
death."  '  Some  of  the  advice  as  to  the  conduct  of  life 
within  monastery  walls  is  still  good  for  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  people.  To  collect  oneself  from  time  to  time, 
to  fix  one's  purpose  in  the  morning,  and  to  cast  up  one's 
spiritual  accounts  when  the  day  is  done,  to  bridle  riotous 
appetite,  and  never  to  be  entirely  idle,  but  to  be  if  noth- 
ing else  endeavouring  something  for  the  public  good,  to 
fit  one's  spiritual  exercise  to  one's  personality,  and  to  ac- 
complish all  that  to  which  one  is  bound,  surely  these  are 
the  essentials  of  wise  living,  now  as  then. 

The  monk  dwelt  much  in  the  sense  of  the  transitori- 
ness  of  all  life,  and  found  in  his  meditations  upon  death 
a  wholesome  corrective  for  his  restlessnesses  and  his  vain 
desires.  ♦'  Death  is  the  end  of  all,  and  man's  life  sud- 
denly passeth  away  like  a  shadow."  ^     We  who  dwell  in 

1  Book  I,  Chapter  xvii.  «  Book  I,  Chapter  xxiii. 


134      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

a  changed  atmosphere  will  never  understand  how  this 
sense  of  the  transitoriness  of  life  oppressed  the  mediaeval 
mind  and  affected  all  its  exercise.  For  the  most  part 
such  other-worldliness  affected  unfavourably  the  whole 
conduct  of  mediaeval  hfe,  but  in  one  mind  it  rose  to  en- 
duringly  noble  and  fruitful  levels.  Dante  alone  saw  the 
changeless  relations  of  the  temporal  and  the  eternal  in 
true  perspective.  For  him,  indeed,  the  temporal  ceased 
to  exist  and  the  eternal  became  all  in  all ;  in  his  vision 
the  streets  of  Florence  were  coterminous  with  the  pits  of 
the  Inferno  and  the  terraces  of  the  Mount  of  Purgation. 
As  easily  as  waters  fall  to  subterranean  levels  and  again 
emerge,  life  as  he  knew  it  flowed  on  unbrokenly,  now  in 
the  mutations  of  Florentine  politics,  now  in  the  pallid 
fellowship  of  shades,  reaping  what  they  have  sown,  but 
always  sub  specie  seternitatis — under  the  guise  of  the 
eternal.  None  the  less  he  was  not  taught  by  all  this  that 
we  are  to  keep  ourselves  as  strangers  and  pilgrims  upon  the 
earth,  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  affairs  of  this  world, 
but  that  rather,  since  the  affairs  of  this  world  are  the 
affairs  of  all  the  worlds,  and  the  affairs  of  time  the  affairs 
of  eternity,  we  are  to  bear  ourselves  as  men  and  women 
who  are  even  here  and  now  about  the  King's  business 
and  who  are  under  bonds  to  bring  even  to  that  which 
seems  transitory  some  qualities  of  the  Unchanging.  This, 
at  least,  the  monk  never  saw,  nor  seeing  it  would  he  in  all 
likelihood  have  understood  the  meaning  of  it ;  for  him 
life  was  only  a  preparation  for  death  and  the  world  which 
now  is  only  the  shadow  of  a  dream  ;  its  relationships  but 
evil  entanglements,  its  loves  but  follies,  its  desires  but  de- 
lusions. Here  or  nowhere  is  the  root  of  the  sterility,  not 
only  of  the  old  monastic  order,  but  of  all  such  orders  as 
have  been  in  any  fashion  affected  by  its  temper.     The  ad- 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  135 

journment  of  all  pure  joy  and  noble  service  to  celestial 
fields  must  in  the  end  empty  this  present  world  of  real 
meanings,  weaken  all  the  springs  of  action,  withdraw 
from  any  active  participation  in  passing  things  those 
whose  citizenship  is  most  literally  in  heaven,  to  the  great 
loss  of  this  present  world.  Indeed  in  all  this  the  monk 
did  despite  not  only  to  the  temporalities  but  to  the  eter- 
nalities,  for  he  would  in  the  end  come  but  to  a  monkish 
heaven  through  taking  there  only  the  capacity  for  a 
monkish  heaven.  He  was  far  afield  in  all  this.  If  what 
we  are  is  what  becomes  of  us  and  if  our  citizenship  here 
determines  the  quality  of  our  citizenship  hereafter,  then 
he  best  serves  the  everlasting  who  does  not  desert  what 
now  is  for  the  sake  of  things  that  shall  be,  but  seeks 
rather  to  secure  for  that  which  nov/  is  some  foregleams 
of  the  eternal  splendour. 

It  is  upon  such  considerations  as  these  that  the  "  Imita- 
tion "  dwells,  varying  indeed  its  treatment  and  shifting  its 
emphasis,  but  holding  fast  always  to  one  central  theme : 
*•  Thou  shalt  profit  much,  if  thou  keep  thyself  free  from 
all  temporal  care.  Esteem  all  comfort  vain,  which  thou 
receivest  from  any  creature." '  "  By  two  wings  a  man  is 
lifted  up  from  things  earthly,  namely,  by  Simplicity  and 
Purity.  Simplicity  ought  to  be  in  our  intention  ;  purity 
in  our  affections.  Simplicity  doth  tend  towards  God  ; 
purity  doth  apprehend  and  taste  Him.  If  thy  heart  were 
sincere  and  upright,  then  every  creature  would  be  unto 
thee  a  living  mirror,  and  a  book  of  holy  doctrine.  As 
iron  put  into  the  fire  loseth  its  rust,  and  becometh  clearly 
red  hot,  so  he  that  wholly  turneth  himself  unto  God,  put- 
teth  off  all  slothfulness,  and  is  transformed  into  a  new 
man."  ^ 

»  Book  II,  Chapter  v.  =  Book  II,  Chapter  iv.        y 


136      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

The  "  Imitation  "  dwells  much  and  directly  upon  the  joy 
of  a  good  conscience.  Here  only  are  the  deep  unhin- 
dered springs  of  peace.  Having  the  approval  of  con- 
science all  other  judgments  are  idle  and  all  losses  but  to 
be  despised.  *•  To  walk  in  the  heart  with  God,  and  not 
to  be  held  in  bondage  by  any  outward  affection,  is  the 
state  of  a  spiritual  man."  '  The  connection  between  the 
chapters  of  the"  Imitation"  is  not  always  evident;  one  must 
seek  the  logic  of  such  connection  as  exists  in  the  deeper 
spiritual  movements  which  begot  them.  Here  is  no  work 
of  systematic  theology,  but  rather  the  report  of  the  move- 
ments of  a  meditative  soul,  dealing  now  with  this  and 
now  with  that  aspect  of  Hfe,  sometimes  doubling  back 
upon  its  tracks,  sometimes  anticipating  what,  in  the  light 
of  pure  logic,  should  have  been  later  considered.  But 
beneath  it  all  there  is  a  deepening  intensity,  a  growing 
power. 

Having  dwelt  much  upon  the  fruitfulness  of  humility 
and  of  spiritual  discipline,  with  the  rewards  incident 
thereto,  the  author  of  the  "  Imitation  "  is  next  moved  to 
consider  the  love  of  Jesus.  Here  he  speaks  as  the  pure 
mystic.  Suggestions  of  the  Song  of  Songs  breathe 
through  his  passages.  Indeed,  the  wonder  is  that  one 
does  not  find  a  larger  use  of  that  rather  difficult  book, 
for  the  mediaeval  mind  loved  much  to  find  in  the  fervent 
passages  so  supplied  an  adequate  vehicle  for  the  expres- 
sion of  its  own  passion  for  Christ.  St.  Bernard  found  in 
the  canticles  texts  and  'suggestions  for  his  most  famous 
sermons,  and  so  used,  the  fire  of  strophes,  sung  first  be- 
neath oriental  skies  and  for  forgotten  marriage  feasts, 
pales  before  the  transmuting  power  of  his  pure  and  fer- 
vent spirit.     Monk  and  nun  alike  dwelt  much  in  their 

'  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  II,  Chapter  vi. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  137 

more  exalted  states  upon  these  glowing  passages,  giving 
them  new  meaning,  and  filling  them  with  a  rapt  expres- 
sion of  a  mystic  love  which  exalted  the  beloved  as  chiefest 
among  ten  thousand  and  the  one  altogether  lovely,  in 
whose  comradeship  hell  itself  becomes  a  paradise  and 
without  whom  paradise  is  become  hell. 

From  dwelling  upon  the  love  of  Jesus  it  is  a  short  way 
to  urge  that  those  who  are  lovers  of  Jesus  must  also  be 
lovers  of  His  cross,  and  in  the  twelfth  chapter  "  Of  the 
Royal  Way  of  the  Holy  Cross  "  the  meditations  reach 
their  loftiest  altitude.  Behind  this  chapter,  or  better  be- 
neath it,  is  the  whole  mediaeval  understanding  of  cross- 
bearing  ;  the  mediaeval  interpretation  of  the  Master's 
master  word :  "  If  any  man  will  come  after  Me,  let  him 
deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  Me."  In 
the  thought  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  the  cross  is  set  squarely 
across  any  road  to  salvation.  Cross-bearing  is,  for  the 
mediaeval  mind,  an  unescapable  discipline,  the  present 
condition  of  future  felicity ;  the  cross  is  not  only  the  sign 
of  the  redemptive  love  of  God  made  manifest  in  Christ, 
but  also  the  symbol  of  pain  and  self-denials,  without 
which  one  can  in  no  wise  be  a  true  disciple  of  Jesus,  but 
in  it  all  there  is  no  real  endeavour  to  relate  the  cross 
either  to  the  deep  necessities  of  the  life  of  Christ  or  to  the 
deep  necessities  of  our  own  lives.  "  Christ's  whole  life 
was  a  cross  and  martyrdom ;  and  dost  thou  seek  rest  and 
joy  for  thyself?  "  ^  The  cross  of  the  "  Imitation  "  is  the 
assumption  of  hard  and  difficult  things  rather  than  the 
acceptance  of  the  costly  consequences  of  high  consecra- 
tion to  brave  and  fruitful  methods  of  life.  All  miseries, 
pains  and  privations  are  crosses  to  be  sought  out  and 
borne.     If  there  is  nothing  in  the  normal  stations  of  life 

' «'  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  II,  Chapter  xii. 


138      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

to  beget  them  then  they  must  be  created  and  then*  edge 
must  be  sharpened  and,  with  increasing  purity  of  purpose 
and  deepening  aspiration  of  soul,  their  weight  must  be 
doubled.  All  that  life  offers  of  disappointment  and  nega- 
tion was  to  the  temper  which  has  given  us  the  "  Imita- 
tion "  one  or  another  aspect  of  the  cross ;  indeed  the 
whole  endeavour  after  salvation  was  a  cross,  an  en- 
deavour whose  present  pains  were  endurable  only  in  the 
light  of  the  future  joy,  purchasable  only  upon  such 
bitter  terms.  Since  the  cross  and  pain  were,  in  the 
teaching  of  the  "  Imitation,"  interchangeable  terms, 
cross-bearing  is  pain-bearing,  the  assumption  of  the 
cross  is  the  assumption  of  pain.  Holy  and  redemptive 
value  is  thus  given  to  all  self-denials,  asceticisms  and 
limitations  of  this  present  life.  The  vocation  of  the  monk 
is  rooted  in  such  a  soil  as  this,  governed  by  such  contra- 
dictions and,  if  in  his  more  thoughtful  moments  he  may 
have  wondered  why  he  was  bowed  beneath  so  heavy  a 
burden,  he  would  have  been  answered,  or  would  have 
answered  himself,  that  we  are  to  take  up  our  cross,  and 
in  such  an  answer  he  would  have  been  content.  Since 
pain  and  sacrifice  are,  as  he  would  have  said  speaking 
scholastically,  of  the  essence  of  the  cross,  therefore,  pain 
and  sacrifice  must  be  sought  out,  must  patiently  be  borne. 
The  "  Imitation  "  does  not  attempt  to  disentangle  those 
crosses  which  spring  out  of  the  vast  brave  necessities  of 
life  and  those  crosses  which  are  the  self-sought  contrivance 
of  the  ascetic  temper.  The  mystery  and  pain  of  life  itself 
and  the  discipline  of  the  cloister  are  put  exactly  upon  the 
same  level,  endowed  with  the  same  virtue,  though  it  is 
only  fair  to  say  that  behind  the  self-sought  discipline  of  the 
cloister  there  lay  a  true  impelling  force  ;  the  feeling,  that 
is,  that  life  must  be  somehow  or  other  a  living  sacrifice. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  139 

In  all  this  it  is  the  deeper  part  which  is  true.  We 
shall  free  ourselves  from  the  circle  in  which  Thomas 
a  Kempis  and  his  fellows  so  long  moved  by  recognizing 
that  that  is  no  true  cross  which  does  not  spring  out  of 
the  necessities  of  life  itself.  The  whole  mediaeval  con- 
ception of  "  The  Royal  Way  of  the  Holy  Cross  "  was  so 
sterilized  that  the  world  has  never  gathered  therefrom 
any  harvest  at  all  proportional  to  the  immense  devotion 
which  moved  the  actors  in  that  ancient  piteous  drama, 
because  those  who  thought  themselves  to  be  imitating 
their  Master  missed  the  central  quality  of  all  His  life  and 
passion.  He  was  committed  by  all  the  passion  of  an  in- 
carnate love  to  the  costly  task  of  the  world's  redemption, 
but  He  began  that  task  in  the  most  simple  and  unmys- 
tical  ways.  He  loosed  the  coils  of  folly  and  fault  in 
which  He  found  men  and  women  everywhere  caught  by 
teaching  them  the  truth  about  life  and  God,  by  cleansing 
and  heartening  them,  by  bringing  joy  to  little  chil- 
dren and  opening  for  women,  deep  in  the  shadow,  the 
gates  of  a  new  and  stainless  life — therein  rebuking  hoary 
wrongs — by  championing  the  cause  of  the  forgotten  and 
the  downtrodden,  by  correcting  men's  sense  of  values,  by 
disclosing  to  them  those  lights  of  the  eternal  which  shone 
upon  the  fields  of  their  toil  and  the  cities  of  their  habita- 
tion, by  reinterpreting  inherited  beliefs,  and  by  giving 
new  and  searching  spiritual  significance  to  admonitions 
and  commandments  whose  real  meaning  they  had  lost. 
It  was  in  such  simple  and  immediate  and  human  services 
as  these  that  Jesus  began  His  tasks  of  redemption  ;  it  was 
out  of  such  foundations  as  these  that  the  cross  began  to 
lift  itself.  As  the  shadow  of  the  Passion  begins  to 
deepen  across  His  road,  it  is  humanly  speaking  because 
all   He  was  trying  to  do  was  bringing  Him  more  and 


140      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

more  into  hostility  with  men  determined  that  it  should 
not  be  done,  whose  interests  would  be  compromised  by 
His  triumph,  whose  ideals  would  be  darkened  if  His 
ideals  were  exalted.  None  the  less,  He  held  bravely  to 
this,  His  appointed  work,  following  without  any  doubt 
or  fear  the  roads  which  He  had  chosen,  because  they 
were  the  highways  of  love  and  service.  He  followed 
them  clean  to  the  end,  though  they  brought  Him  to 
the  garden  of  Gethsemane  and  the  Halls  of  Judgment 
and  the  Chambers  of  Mockery  and  the  Hill  of  Pain. 
Here  was  nothing  assumed  or  nothing  which  He  had 
gone  out  of  His  way  to  seek.  Indeed  He  would  have 
gone  out  of  His  way  to  have  avoided  the  Cross.  His 
cross  was  just  the  brave  and  radiant  and  sacrificial  com- 
pletion of  holy  and  redemptive  tasks  which  began  face 
to  face  with  needy  men  and  women  and  ended  in  the 
mediatorial  lonelinesses  of  the  passion.  There  is  no  indi- 
cation of  this  in  the  pages  of  the  "  Imitation." 

Thomas  a  Kempis  and  all  his  fellows  were  bearing 
their  specially  assumed  monastic  and  ascetic  crosses,  not 
because  great  human  needs,  redemptive  necessities  and 
the  problems  of  the  restless  and  misguided  world  had 
brought  them  face  to  face  therewith  in  their  endeavour  to 
establish  the  kingdom  of  God  in  the  fields  of  time  and 
upon  the  foundations  of  eternity,  but  because  such 
denials  as  they  were  undergoing  seemed  to  them  neces- 
sary aspects  of  their  own  attainment  of  salvation.  It  was 
to  save  their  lives  eternally  that  they  were  so  willing  to 
lose  them  for  a  little  space.  All  this  is  not  to  say  that 
they  found  no  justification  in  the  words  of  the  Master  for 
what  they  were  doing.  He  indeed  urged  men  to  lose 
their  lives  that  they  might  in  the  end  save  them,  but 
when  all  this  is  interpreted  in  the  light  of  His  own  temper 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  141 

and  the  commanding  necessities  of  the  kingdom  one  sees 
that  there  is  not  now  and  has  never  been  any  need  for 
creating  conditions  of  self-sacrifice.  If  hfe  itself  is  lived 
bravely,  if  all  its  burdens  are  nobly  assumed,  its  battles 
fought  to  the  end,  its  difficult  roads  followed  through 
light  and  shadow,  its  steep  ascents  breasted,  its  sins 
atoned  for  and  its  follies  retrieved,  its  far-shining  ideals 
consistently  obeyed,  we  shall  find  that  though  we  are  not 
spared  the  necessities  of  taking  up  our  crosses,  they  are 
always,  none  the  less,  crosses  which  have  already  taken 
shape  in  the  needs  of  the  kingdom  and  the  high  impera- 
tives of  life ;  we  do  not  need  to  build  them  out  of 
materials  which  our  own  imaginations  or  our  own  con- 
ceptions or  misconceptions  of  self-denial  may  supply. 
We  need  always  to  be  holding  such  wide  considerations 
as  these  in  view  in  interpreting  any  exhortation  to  cross- 
bearing. 

Once  however  all  this  is  clearly  seen  we  may  well 
recognize  how  necessary  it  is  that  we  should  meet  the 
pains  and  disappointments  of  life  in  some  such  temper  as 
breathes  quietly  through  the  blessed  pages  of  the  •'  Imi- 
tation." For  there  are  crosses  which  come  to', us,  not 
through  the  brave  assumptions  of  difficult  and  challeng- 
ing tasks  or  the  courageous  fighting  of  battles  to  which 
we  are  led  by  far-shining  visions,  but  because  we  belong 
to  the  fellowship  of  the  suffering  and  the  sinning,  because 
life,  at  its  best,  is  full  of  sorrows  and  disappointments 
which  draw  down  upon  us  out  of  the  spaces  of  the  skies, 
storms  born  it  may  be  in  another  hemisphere — unsought, 
unforeseen,  unavoidable.  We  shall  bruise  ourselves  sadly 
if  we  beat  with  restless  pride  against  such  conditions  as 
these,  or  refuse  to  accept  as  part  of  the  discipline  of  life 
itself  its  tears  and  its  disappointments.     Since  there  is 


142      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

much  which  we  must  bear  if  we  are  to  live  at  all,  and 
since  those  who  live  most  nobly  are  often  asked  to  bear 
much,  and  indeed  do  live  nobly  because  they  do  bear 
much,  there  is  unspeakable  gain  in  recognizing  clearly 
that  here  also  is  a  Royal  Way  and  that  we  are  not 
alone  when  we  travel  it,  but  that  we  move  in  great  and 
kindling  comradeships — the  comradeship  of  all  those  who 
have  accepted  these  light  afflictions  which  are  but  for  a 
moment  as  a  part  of  a  Father's  purpose,  sure  in  the  end 
to  work  out  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight 
of  glory.  We  have  here  but  one  or  two  alternatives :  we 
may  be  sadly  bruised  or  broken  by  fighting  against  all 
the  harder  part  of  life  or,  accepting  the  bitter  and  diffi- 
cult as  also  a  part  of  Love's  plan,  we  may  find  that  what 
would  otherwise  wound  us  heals  us ;  that  experiences, 
which,  borne  in  one  temper,  crush  us,  do,  when  borne  in 
another  temper,  exalt  us,  and  that  to  have  accepted,  en- 
dured and  glorified  what  is  hardest  with  the  glory  of  the 
cross  is  to  have  emptied  it  of  its  terror  and  robbed  it  of 
its  power  to  wound  ;  nay,  indeed,  to  discover  in  all  pain 
and  burden-bearing  a  spiritually  creative  force  fruitful 
since  the  morning  of  time  in  high  perfections  of  soul. 
For  this  is  the  glory  of  the  cross  of  Christ.  It  is  lifted  so 
high  that  the  shadow  of  it,  which  is  no  shadow  at  all  but 
an  excess  of  light,  touches  and  transforms  every  hard 
thing  truly  or  lovingly  borne. 

In  the  third  book  of  the  "  Imitation  "  the  mystic  note 
deepens,  though  there  is  rather  the  dwelling  upon  con- 
siderations already  urged  than  the  advance  into  wholly 
new  regions.  Humility  is  much  dwelt  upon.  All  things 
are  to  be  referred  to  God,  the  longing  desires  of  our  heart 
are  to  be  examined  and  moderated,  we  are  to  grow  in 
patience  and  to  strive  much  against  evil  desires.     We  are 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  143 

to  find  in  the  example  of  Jesus  Christ  the  kindhng  in- 
spiration of  all  we  are  and  all  we  seek.  Our  self-abase- 
ment is  to  be  entire,  our  resignation  without  quahfication, 
true  comfort  is  to  be  sought  in  God  alone.  We  are  to 
cast  all  our  care  upon  Him  because  He  careth  for  us. 
Through  much  resting  in  God  and  the  remembrance  of 
His  manifold  gifts,  through  constant  imitation  of  our 
Lord,  and  the  uncomplaining  acceptance  of  all  chasten- 
ing and  discipline  we  are  to  enter  into  peace.  The  roads 
which  lead  to  the  Land  of  Peace  are  not  easy  to  miss, 
though  indeed  a  proud  heart  would  rather  do  without 
peace  than  choose  them.  For  there  are,  says  the  "  Imi- 
tation," four  things  that  bring  great  inward  peace : 

First :  "  To  do  the  will  of  another  rather  than  thine 

own." 
Second :  To  "  choose  always  to  have  less  rather  than 

more." 
Third  :  To  "  seek  always  the  lowest  place,  and  to  be 

beneath  every  one." 
Fourth  :  To  ♦'  wish  always,  and  pray,  that  the  will  of 

God  may  be  wholly  fulfilled  in  thee."  ^ 

In  such  counsels  as  these  one  hears  the  echo  of  quali- 
ties old  as  all  meditation  upon  the  disappointments  of 
life.  "  He  that  is  down,"  says  John  Bunyan,  •*  need  fear 
no  fall."  In  the  stormy  pages  of  "  Sartor  Resartus  " 
Thomas  Carlyle,  speaking  out  of  a  sorely  tried  soul,  sug- 
gests the  same  conditions  for  the  attainment  of  peace. 
"  Nay,  if  I  mistake  not,  unity  itself  divided  by  zero  equals 
infinity.  Decrease  thy  denominator.  On  the  rolling  bil- 
lows of  time  thou  art  not  engulfed,  but  borne  aloft  into 
the  azure  of  eternity."  The  "  Imitation  "  does  but  echo 
in  its  definitions  of  peace  the  older  and  more  command- 

1  <*  Imitation  of  Christ,"  Book  III,  Chapter  xxiii. 


144      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

ing  word  of  St.  Augustine ;  "  Thou  hast  made  us  for 
Thyself,  and  we  are  restless  till  we  rest  in  Thee." 

Life,  so  established,  has  really  a  great  power  of  self- 
sufficiency.  It  is  able  to  disregard  the  judgments  of  men, 
clearly  discerns  the  eternal  values,  measures  the  straitness 
of  life  against  the  amplitudes  of  the  Everlasting,  and  finds 
in  eternal  life  compensations  for  all  grievous  things,  any- 
where and  anyhow  borne.  By  asking  very  little  all  that 
one  gets  is  clear  gain.  By  resting  humbly  in  one's  God  one 
is  spared  the  promptings  and  the  disappointments  of  vain 
curiosity.  By  trusting  wholly  in  God  one  need  take  no 
thought  for  one's  salvation.  So  the  scheme  of  life  finally 
emerges.  HumiHty,  self-abnegation,  the  acceptance  of 
the  hard  and  difficult  as  part  of  the  loving  purpose  of 
God,  the  crucifixion  of  natural  desires  and  inordinate 
affection,  the  constant  subordination  of  the  seen  to  the 
unseen,  of  the  temporal  to  the  eternal,  the  glorification 
of  discipHne,  the  exaltation  of  pain  and  denial  are  the 
frontiers  of  it.  Within  such  boundaries  its  business  is  to 
be  carried  on,  its  commerce  conducted.  All  this  is  not 
new.  There  are  haunting  echoes  here  of  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  and  the  whole  stoic  interpretation  of  life.  It  is  not 
wholly  Christian,  and  it  has  found  expression  in  forms  too 
multitudinous  to  bear  repetition.  The  ''  Imitation  of 
Christ "  does  but  give  a  classic  and  hallowed  form  to  such 
contentions,  relate  them  to  the  discipline  of  the  Catholic 
Church  and  the  Passion  of  Christ,  and  soften  all  their 
harsh  contours  by  a  great  gentleness  of  spirit. 

The  "  Imitation  "  is,  however,  distinctive  in  one  thing: 
in  its  emphasis  upon  the  Sacrament  of  Communion  as 
being  in  some  fashion  the  method  by  which  all  this  is  to 
be  realized.  Here  Thomas  a  Kempis  speaks  a  language 
which  is  hard  for  many  of  us  to  understand — the  language 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  145 

of  the  sacramentarian.  But  we  can  at  least  understand 
this  much  ;  he  knows  himself,  in  the  ecstasies,  the  brood- 
ings  and  the  mystic  identifications  of  the  sacrament,  to 
have  become  one  with  his  Lord,  to  have  eaten  living 
bread  and  drunk  a  living  draught,  and  so  not  only  to 
have  been  made  strong  for  the  burdens  which  such  an 
imitation  of  Christ  embodies,  but  also  to  have  become  so 
identified  with  Christ  that  imitation  becomes  something 
deeper  than  imitation — the  true  expression  of  what  is 
imitated.  When  once  a  devout  soul  has  found  union 
with  Christ  in  the  sacraments,  the  soul  will  be  and  bear 
and  do  all  that  Christ  did  and  was  and  bore,  because  the 
soul  and  Christ  are  one. 

The  "  Imitation  "  has  gone  far,  has  been  translated  into 
many  tongues,  and  has  spoken  its  word  of  consolation  to 
troubled  and  restless  generations.  In  its  temper  of  other- 
worldliness,  in  its  simplicity  of  life,  in  its  stripping  away 
the  garments  of  pride  and  self-conceit  or  indolence,  in  its 
discernments  of  eternal  values,  and  in  its  cultivations  of  a 
deep  and  brave  temper,  the  imitation  which  Thomas  a 
Kempis  counsels  is  a  true  imitation.  It  fails  in  its  indica- 
tion of  allegiances  to  vaster  causes  and  continuing  human 
needs.  The  book  will  always  be  the  wise  counsellor  of 
restless  souls  who,  enmeshed  in  circumstances  which  they 
may  not  escape,  would  without  such  healing  restraint 
beat  out  their  lives  against  their  prison  bars.  It  com- 
municates a  magical  temper  which,  laying  hold  of  all  that 
is  hardest  in  life,  transforms  it,  lifts  it  up,  transcends  it 
and,  by  a  great  paradox,  escapes  utterly  by  yielding  to  it 
most  completely.  No  one  of  us  is  ever  likely  to  escape 
the  need  of  such  gentle  healing  admonitions  or  the  need 
of  being  taught  that  the  stern  necessities  of  life  are  to  be 
escaped    by  bearing   them;    that   gentleness,   humility, 


146      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

meekness  and  patience  are  the  roads  to  the  kingdom ; 
that  beyond  the  Httle  seen  boundaries  of  the  temporal 
are  the  ampHtudes  of  the  eternal,  the  home  of  final  rec- 
onciliations and  the  home  of  the  soul. 

But  here,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  is  not  the  whole 
imitation  of  the  whole  Christ.  It  is  the  imitation  of  the 
Christ  of  the  silences,  the  Christ  of  loneliness,  the  Christ 
of  mountain  tops  and  holy  and  rapt  communions  with 
His  Father,  the  Christ  of  the  Garden,  the  Passion  and  the 
Cross.  Here  is  no  imitation  of  the  Christ  of  the  High- 
ways of  Palestine,  of  the  marriage  feast  of  Cana,  the 
Christ  the  healer  and  teacher,  the  Christ  whose  hatred  of 
all  injustices  was  compact  of  holy  fire,  or  the  Christ  the 
good  comrade  of  men,  or  the  Christ  who  conceived  and 
inaugurated  the  kingdom.  More  than  that,  the  "  Imita- 
tion" does  not  recognize  those  aspects  in  the  life  of 
Christ  which  it  most  faithfully  follows,  as  related  in 
indirect  though  unescapable  ways  to  every  other  aspect 
of  His  life.  If  He  sought  the  silences  it  was  only  to  speak 
the  more  wisely  and  compellingly  to  the  throngs  on  the 
slopes  of  the  Galilean  hills  or  the  mobs  in  the  streets  of 
Judean  cities  ;  if  He  were  lonely  it  made  him  the  better 
friend  ;  if  He  sought  the  mountain  top  it  was  only  to  come 
down  divinely  strengthened  to  heal  and  to  teach  or  to 
transform.  Nay,  the  Garden,  the  Passion  and  the  Cross 
have  for  their  backgrounds  all  His  holy  human  service, 
all  His  joy-bringing  fellowships,  all  His  brave  passion  for 
the  kingdom  and  His  Father's  cause.  The  Christ  whom 
the  "  Imitation  "  imitates  is  never  for  a  moment  unrelated 
to  the  Christ  of  whom  the  '•  Imitation  "  knows  nothing. 
Nor  can  one  understand  or  justify  the  Christ  of  the 
"  Imitation  "  except  as  one  understands  and  glorifies  the 
Christ  of  life  and  its  needs. 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST  147 

For  our  imitation  of  Christ,  then,  we  are  to  interpret 
what  the  "  Imitation  "  teaches  in  terms  of  what  it  does 
not  teach.  We  need  sorely  enough  all  its  emphases.  Our 
own  age  needs  to  be  called  back  again  to  a  greater  rec- 
ognition of  the  worth  of  the  inner  life.  We  are  demand- 
ing an  expression  from  the  Church  which  is  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  that  which  she  has  to  express,  and  we  are 
wondering  why  the  response  is  so  inadequate.  A  rich 
outer  life  must  be  the  expression  of  a  rich  inner  hfe. 
We  have  our  pumps,  our  canals,  our  fields  to  be  irri- 
gated, everything  but  the  living  water,  and  we  shall  gain 
the  living  water  only  as  men  seek  anew  their  eternal 
sources.  The  world  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  was  poor  be- 
cause, having  such  inner  wealth,  it  used  it  in  such  in- 
adequate fashions.  Our  world  is  poor  because,  having 
such  demand  for  inner  wealth,  we  are  forgetting  how  to 
create  it.  The  perfect  imitation  of  Christ  lies  in  the 
union  of  elements  too  often  profoundly  separated.  The 
full  expression  of  all  that  Christ  is  and  offers  has  indeed 
seemed  historically  almost  impossible,  though  all  partial 
expressions  of  Him  do  make  Him  somewhat  more  real  in 
a  world  which  is  richer  and  better  for  even  the  most 
fragmentary  reincarnation  of  His  spirit,  but  the  sheer 
difficulty  of  the  task  does  not  excuse  us  from  striving  so 
to  imitate  Him  that  the  whole  force  of  His  temper,  His 
nature.  His  interpretation  of  life  shall  be  brought  to  bear 
upon  a  world  whose  need  is  so  immense.  Our  own  tend- 
ency just  now  is  to  dwell  too  exclusively  in  regions 
which  the  "  Imitation"  does  not  at  all  consider.  Our 
imitations  of  Christ  are  humanitarian,  concrete.  The 
settlement  not  the  cloister  is  our  ideal;  Jane  Addams 
not  Thomas  a  Kempis  writes  our  twentieth  century 
imitation.     Ministries   are  our  chosen  tests ;  service  our 


148      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

master  word.  There  is  immense  need  that  an  otherwise 
sterile  overemphasis  of  subjective  spiritual  states  as  the 
true  Christian  ideal  should  be  corrected,  but  we  need  to 
take  care  that  we  also  do  not  rest  in  the  incomplete. 
Jesus  Christ  was  never  wholly  imitated  in  the  cloister,  nor 
is  He  fully  imitated  in  the  settlement,  unless  the  settle- 
ment possesses  also  some  of  the  quahties  of  the  cloister. 
We  must  find  Him  in  both.  Only  such  imitations  are 
great  enough  to  make  Him  truly  real.  We  rightly  bear 
His  cross  only  as  we  serve  all  holy  causes  with  hands  in 
whose  palms  sacrifice  sets  the  stigmata  and  offer,  in  the 
sanctuaries  of  our  souls  deep  withdrawn,  a  perfect  obedi- 
ence to  the  loving  will  of  God. 


IV 
Theologia  Germanica 

WE  have  not  come  even  so  far  as  this  in  these 
studies  without  beginning  to  see  that  we 
have  been  following  the  changing  aspects  of 
one  continuing  process.  Every  one  of  the  books  with 
which  we  have  already  dealt  is  not  only  a  voice  out  of 
the  depths,  but  the  revelation  of  a  quest  and  its  out- 
come ;  the  quest,  that  is,  for  peace,  power  and  finality. 
Life  lays  upon  men  the  immense  burden  of  finding  some- 
where beyond  its  restlessnesses  and  contradictions  healing 
regions  of  unity  and  stability ;  life  lays  upon  men,  that 
is,  the  immense  burden  of  the  quest  for  God. 

Every  great  book  of  the  spirit  is  either  a  revelation  of 
the  way  in  which  men  have  found  an  inner  peace,  or  the 
pathetic  disclosure  of  their  inability  to  find  it:  a  dis- 
closure made  compelling  in  the  instance  of  those  who 
fail  by  the  moving  story  of  their  unsatisfied  endeavour. 
All  this  is,  of  course,  as  old  as  life,  but  from  time  to 
time  new  direction  is  given  to  the  quest,  new  movements 
disclose  themselves,  and  new  guides,  having  found  at 
last  the  city  of  their  desire,  call  to  us,  across  the  years, 
the  roads  which  they  have  followed. 

We  began  fittingly  with  Saul  of  Tarsus ;  *  he  marked, 
we  saw,  a  great  transition.  Compelled,  though  he  was, 
to  cast  his  proclamations  of  emancipation  in  theological 

*  See  Introduction. 
149 


ISO      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

form,  he  was  first  of  all  seer,  mystic  and  poet,  passion- 
ately claiming  for  himself  and  all  men  the  birthright  of 
an  unhindered  communion  with  the  Father,  and  yet  so 
led  in  all  his  passion  for  freedom  as  never  for  a  moment 
to  detach  it  from  consuming  humihties,  holy  obediences, 
and  absolute  dependence  upon  the  righteous  will  of  God. 
He  made  men  free,  yet  so  as  not  to  abuse  their  freedom  ; 
highly  proclaiming  that  God  asks  of  His  children  only 
the  acceptance  of  all  His  benefits  and  comes  into  every 
life  upon  no  other  condition  than  that  the  doors  of  de- 
sire, confidence,  and  hospitable  eagerness  be  opened  to 
His  coming.  Yet,  just  as  in  the  ruined  Abbey  at  Mel- 
rose all  the  inner  framework  of  one  great  window  is  after 
the  fashion  of  the  cross,  so  that  no  light  came  through 
that  window  which  did  not  as  it  were  shine  through  the 
cross, — so  the  Apostle  made  the  cross  the  framework 
and  enclosure  of  the  door  of  faith  to  the  end  that  no  one 
should  enter  that  door  without  a  profound  sense  of  his 
own  unworthiness,  a  burning  hatred  of  sin,  the  great 
comforting  consciousness  that  there  is  no  bitterness  of 
hfe  which  God  does  not  share,  and  the  passionate  ado- 
ration of  a  Love  which  counted  no  price  too  great  to  pay 
if  only  men  might  be  freed  from  their  burdens  and 
follow  the  Hving  way. 

In  our  study  of  Marcus  AurcHus  and  his  meditations, 
and  the  backgrounds  of  these  meditations  in  the  Stoic 
philosophy,  we  saw  how  fine  a  temper  could  nourish 
itself  on  the  moral  idealism  of  the  Stoic,  how  nobly  men 
might  live  who  sought  only  the  integrity  of  their  own 
souls,  and  what  sanctuaries  they  secure  who  know  them- 
selves to  be,  in  spite  of  all  appearance,  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  passing  or  unhappy,  who  look  fortune  in  the  face 
with  level  eyes,  and  who  count  the  voyage  well  done  if, 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  151 

whether  they  have  come  or  no  to  their  appointed  havens, 
they  have  at  least  kept  their  rudders  true.  We  savir,  at 
the  same  time,  how  inadequate  all  this  is  to  the  really 
great  enterprises  of  life,  how  it  spells  retreat  rather  than 
advance,  and  how,  while  it  may  be  a  saving  and  neces- 
sary attitude  for  those  who  champion  failing  causes,  it 
is  no  fit  interpretation  of  life  for  those  who  have  to  lay 
anew  the  foundations  of  the  spiritual  and  the  temporal, 
and  rebuild  a  ruined  world. 

The  forces  which  were  incarnate  in  St.  Paul, — nay,  the 
forces  which  took  their  departure  from  St.  Paul  and 
found  in  him  their  deathless  spokesman,  became  rein- 
carnate in  St.  Augustine,  yet  with  this  difference,  that 
whereas  St.  Paul  in  his  own  life  made  the  transition  from 
the  rigidities  of  Judaism  to  the  freedom  of  Christian 
discipleship,  St.  Augustine  in  his  own  life  accomplished 
the  transition  from  Paganism  to  Christianity.  St.  Augus- 
tine himself  has  borne  witness  at  what  cost  this  was  ac- 
complished and  how  immense  was  the  travail  of  his  soul. 
But  when  at  last  he  listened  to  the  decisive  and  directing 
voice  and  in  an  ecstatic  moment  of  rebirth  reorganized 
all  his  hfe  about  centres  of  love,  devotion  and  obedience, 
and  upon  the  full  plane  of  the  spiritual,  something 
more  happened  than  that.  Augustine  the  Rhetorician 
was  at  last  converted  and  was  in  the  way  of  becoming 
Augustine  the  Saint.  Then  and  there  the  old  life  of 
Western  Europe  was  recast;  then  and  there  unborn 
generations  and  shadowy  centuries  were  committed  to 
new  ideals,  new  affections,  and  new  desires.  From  time 
to  time  it  is  given  to  one  man  to  anticipate  and  body 
forth  in  his  experiences  all  that  which  humanity,  after 
him,  is  to  share  and  to  become.  Sometimes  one  man 
dies  for  the  people,  sometimes  one  man  is  converted  for 


152      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  people.  A  thousand  years  of  history  were  made 
that  afternoon  in  a  now  forgotten  garden  while  the  dis- 
tant, changeless  summits  of  the  Alps  looked  down  upon 
the  triumphant  labour  of  St.  Augustine's  soul. 

Three  distinct  forces  took  their  departure  from  him. 
As  a  theologian,  he  furnished  the  moulds  into  which, 
even  down  to  our  own  time,  the  dominant  theologies, 
both  of  the  Catholic  and  Protestant  Churches,  have  been 
cast.  As  a  philosophic  interpreter  of  history,  he  antici- 
pated and  justified  the  reincarnation  of  the  Roman  im- 
perial order  in  the  imperial  order  of  the  Catholic  Church 
and  gave  force  and  direction  to  that  movement.  He 
was,  though  he  knew  it  not,  the  father  of  hierarchies  and 
the  apologist  for  exercises  of  authority  before  the  full 
consequences  of  which  he  would  himself  have  stood 
appalled.  And  he  was,  besides  (in  Western  Europe),  the 
first  great  Christian  mystic  and  comrade  of  all  who  seek 
God  in  the  sanctuaries  of  their  own  souls  by  the  roads  of 
self-denial,  mortification,  and  illumination. 

We  have  now  to  consider,  in  connection  with  the 
"  Theologia  Germanica,"  the  development  of  that  mystic 
temper  in  Latin  Christianity  both  as  it  found  expression 
in  a  little  book  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any  other  has 
made  Mysticism  intelligible  to  the  plain  man  ;  and  as  it 
became  a  determining  factor  in  the  pregnant  departures 
of  the  Protestant  Reformation.  Mysticism  itself  is  as 
old  as  love  and  life  and  restless  human  yearning.  It  was 
from  the  beginning  a  constitutive  element  in  the  great 
religions  of  the  East.  Hinduism  is  steeped  in  it ;  Bud- 
dhism sits  and  dreams  in  its  light.  The  attainment  of  its 
states  was  part  of  the  discipline  of  the  Greek  mysteries, 
although  it  was  never  a  distinctive  quality  of  the  Greek 
temperament.     The   Greek   loved    balanced   harmonies, 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  153 

clear-cut  forms  of  beauty,  and  the  clarity  of  his  own 
matchless  skies  far  too  well  to  dwell  overmuch  in  the 
shadowed  land  of  mystical  speculations.  Nor  does 
Mysticism  enter  largely  into  the  faith  of  the  Hebrew; 
his  emphases  were  primarily  ethical,  his  consciousness  of 
God  in  every  aspect  of  life  so  overwhelming  as  to  make 
any  long  and  difficult  search  for  Him  an  unnecessary 
exercise  of  the  soul  for  men  who  heard  His  voice  in  the 
thunder,  saw  His  glory  in  the  lightning,  were  persuaded 
that  He  drew  the  hail  out  of  the  treasures  of  His  ice  for 
the  discomfiture  of  their  enemies,  made  the  clouds  His 
chariots  and  the  winds  His  messengers,  and  dwelt  in  a 
heaven  whose  lower  battlements  an  audacious  tower 
might  scale.  The  mystical  quality,  however,  is  not 
wanting  in  the  Psalms,  for  it  grows  always  with  our 
sense  of  the  greatness  and  wonder  of  God ;  indeed  the 
Psalms  and  the  Canticle  have  been  storehouses  from 
which  Christian  mystics  have  always  drawn  great  haunt- 
ing phrases  to  be  burdened  anew  with  meanings  which 
the  Hebrew  poets  could  not  always  have  anticipated, 
and  which  would  indeed  somewhat  have  surprised  them. 
How  immediately  the  teaching  and  the  ministry  of 
Jesus  commended  themselves  to  the  mystical  temper 
and  were  by  that  temper  taken  up  and  rebaptized,  we 
have  only  to  open  the  Gospel  according  to  St.  John  to 
find  out.  In  the  face  of  all  critical  discussion  this  is 
beyond  debate.  The  Gospel  according  to  St.  John  is  a 
mystic's  interpretation  of  Christ  and  His  Evangel.  There 
was  a  vast  deal  in  that  Evangel,  so  the  Gospel  according 
to  John  witnesses,  which  was  capable  of  being  redis- 
tilled in  the  alembic  of  the  mystic's  temper,  and  the  fra- 
grance of  that  distillation  has  been  filling  the  chambers  of 
devout  souls  for  nineteen  hundred  years.     The  mystical 


154      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

interpretations  of  the  Evangel,  so  begun,  attained  a  trop- 
ical growth  upon  Graeco-Judaic  soil.  For  in  Neo- 
Platonism  and  Gnosticism  mystic  elements  are  not  want- 
ing. It  must  always  remain  a  wonder  why  Judaism, 
with  its  clear-cut  and  reverent  sense  of  God,  and  Hellen- 
ism, with  its  great  sane  clarities  of  thought,  should  be- 
tween them  have  begotten  a  system  in  which  God  is  lost 
in  unparallelled  complexities  of  speculations,  and  clear 
thinking  wholly  subordinated  to  capricious  and  bizarre 
creations  whose  only  value  is  to  witness  how  far  afield 
men  may  go  when  they  forget  reality,  name  their  dreams 
philosophy,  and  their  caprices  faith. 

Such  a  temper  could,  in  the  end,  prove  only  sterile ; 
such  a  cloud-built  system  could  not  preserve  its  co- 
herency in  a  world  where,  after  all,  the  winds  of  sanity 
do  blow  down,  cold,  fresh  and  mist-dispelling,  from  the 
heights  of  truth.  You  may  draw  a  line  north  and  south 
to  the  west  of  Alexandria,  and  all  mysticism  east  of  that 
line  has  been  and  remains  sterile,  capricious,  subtle,  and 
unreal.  To  the  westward,  the  mystical  element,  more 
nobly  controlled,  never  wholly  divorced  from  action  and 
constantly  made  subject  to  an  entirely  different  rehgious 
temper,  has  been  a  spiritual  leaven  without  which  Western 
civilization  would  have  been  poor  indeed.  It  has  filled 
all  our  devotion  with  a  saving  sense  of  wonder  and 
mystery.  It  has  offered  that  call  of  the  far  horizons 
without  which  religion  retracts  upon  itself  and  faith 
narrows  to  rationalistic  limits. 

It  is  time  now  to  try  to  define  the  thing  about  which 
we  have  been  talking.  Mysticism  is  born  of  the  restless- 
ness and  incompleteness  of  life  :  whether  in  the  regions  of 
thought,  love  or  action,  we  are  not  sufiRcient  for  our- 
selves.    The  simplest  facts  of  the  inner  and  outer  world 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  155 

set  us  to  asking  questions  which  in  turn  raise  other  ques- 
tions, and  so  drive  us  far  down  a  road  which  either  has 
no  end  at  all  or  else  must  end  in  that  which  answers  all 
our  questions.  If  we  are  to  keep  our  sanity,  if  we  are 
not  to  be  always  standing  dizzy  on  the  edge  of  an  infinite 
gulf,  we  must  somehow  find  an  answer  to  all  our  ques- 
tions in  some  homeland  of  the  questing  soul,  which 
men  have  variously  named,  but  which,  however  they 
name  it,  is  the  goal  of  their  pilgrimage.  The  One,  the 
Absolute,  the  Self-sufficient,  the  Self-evident,  the  Infinite, 
an  Infinite  and  Eternal  energy,  the  Unknown  and  the 
Unknowable  God, — so  men  have  named  their  goal. 

"  That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless; 

Our  dearest  faith  ;  our  ghastliest  doubt ; 
He,  They,  One,  All ;  within,  without ; 
The  Power  in  darkness  whom  we  guess." 

In  the  regions  of  science  and  philosophy  we  reach  this 
goal  by  the  difficult  road  of  reason  ;  we  climb  by  the 
hard-hewn  stairs  of  premise  and  conclusion.  We  strive 
to  test  our  facts  as  we  climb  and  so  follow  the  light  from 
level  to  level.  Climbing  by  such  rock-hewn  roads  as 
these,  our  progress  has  never  been  rapid ;  some  of  us 
have  gone  farther  than  others  and  many  of  us  have  found 
the  way  too  hard.  We  accept  as  our  guides  great  crea- 
tive masters  of  human  thought — the  scientists  and  the 
philosophers — nor  do  we  always  follow  them  to  the  end 
of  the  road.  We  take  their  word  for  conclusions  which 
they  themselves  have  reached,  but  which  are  too  high  or 
too  far  for  us.  Only  those  who  are  blind  to  the  great 
intellectual  achievements  of  our  race  will  fail  to  rec- 
ognize how  far  this  way  has  led  us,  at  what  almost  infi- 
nite cost  its  steps  have  been  cut  out  of  the  living  rock, 


1 56      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

what  horizons  are  disclosed  as  we  pantingly  take  its 
heights,  or  what  splendour  of  the  glory  of  God  has  been 
so  discerned. 

But  the  road  of  reason  is  not  the  only  road  to  God  and 
His  rest.  There  have  always  been  those  who  have  dared 
to  take  feeling  as  their  guide,  who  have  flown  where 
others  have  slowly  climbed,  and  have  been  borne  by  the 
wings  of  their  intuition  across  abysses  which  more 
cautious  and  challenging  souls  have  been  compelled  to 
bridge.  The  mystic  has  always  maintained  that  God  is 
to  be  known  not  by  the  head,  but  by  the  heart ;  our 
emotional  experiences  (so  they  contend)  are  in  the 
regions  of  spiritual  communion  not  only  the  surest 
guides,  but  the  most  dependable  witnesses.  Until  well 
within  our  own  time  we  have  made  no  attempt  either  to 
understand  the  mystic  or  to  examine  his  claims.  When 
Starbuck  published  his  "  Psychology  of  Religion,"  he 
gave  notice  that  the  specialists  in  psychology  were  at  last 
beginning  to  take  the  phenomena  of  religious  experience 
seriously ;  a  new  day  dawned  then.  When  William 
James  in  his  epoch-making  "  Varieties  of  Religious  Ex- 
perience "  lent  to  the  interpretation  of  these  experiences 
the  great  weight  of  his  scholarship,  invested  their  narra- 
tion with  the  charm  of  his  style,  and  came  at  the  heart  of 
them  by  his  penetrating  and  sympathetic  intuition,  we 
all  recognized  that  the  reHgious  consciousness  was  no 
longer  a  psychological  outlaw.  Now  that  the  whole  sub- 
ject is  being  investigated  from  every  possible  point  of  ap- 
proach, Mysticism  has  come  in  for  a  consideration  which 
more  than  atones  for  our  past  neglect.  We  are  in  the 
way  of  at  last  really  understanding  a  subject  which  has 
hitherto  been,  for  a  variety  of  reasons,  all  too  difficult, 
and  it  is  more  than  likely  that  we  shall  find  ourselves 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  157 

presently  with  a  new  respect  for  the  witness  of  feeUng  to 
the  everlasting  reaUty  of  religion.  "  The  freezing  reason's 
colder  part  "  is  not  our  only  guide.  When  "  like  a  man 
in  wrath  "  the  heart  stands  up  ♦'  and  answers,  I  have  felt," 
that  testimony  is  not  to  be  lightly  dismissed.  The  peace 
of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding  has  a  certainty 
which  mere  demonstration  can  never  attain. 

Modern  psychology  helps  us  to  understand  the  move- 
ment of  the  mystical  mind  and  lends  a  real  reenforce- 
ment  to  many  of  its  conclusions  ;  our  newer  thought 
about  the  subliminal  consciousness  lets  in  a  flood  of  light 
upon  its  processes  and  offers  perhaps  the  best  point  of 
departure  for  the  consideration  of  mystical  phenomena. 
Even  in  the  most  normal  and  least  perplexing  mental 
life  there  is  a  vast  deal  going  on  beneath  the  surface,  of 
which  we  are  not  conscious.  Thought  is  matured, 
processes  of  reasoning  are  carried  on,  conclusions  are 
reached,  judgments  are  corrected  and  balanced,  and  all 
this,  either  without  our  own  knowledge  or  with  such  in- 
termittent or  fragmentary  knowledge,  that  we  do  not  for 
a  moment  sense  the  full  significance  of  what  is  being 
transacted  below  the  sea-level  of  our  conscious  lives.  We 
all  have  the  habit,  even  though  we  have  not  dwelt  upon 
its  full  significance,  of  referring  much  which  puzzles  us 
to  those  counsellors  who  sit  in  hidden  chambers;  we 
dismiss  to  them  our  burdens  and  our  perplexities  only  to 
receive  them  again  ordered  and  clarified  by  the  ceaseless 
and  unguessed  labour  of  these  toilers  in  the  deeps.  We 
do  not  always  give  credit  to  those  to  whom  credit  is  due ; 
we  call  such  sure  and  clarified  judgments  intuitions. 
They  seem  to  us  gleams  or  flashes  from  another  world, 
when  in  reality  they  are  simply  conclusions  to  which  our 
deeper  selves  have  come,  often  at  the  cost  of  long-con- 


158      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

tinued  and  laborious  mental  processes  which  are  none 
the  less  real  because  they  lie  beneath  the  thresholds. 
This  is  true,  I  say,  even  of  those  of  us  who  most  pride 
ourselves  upon  the  reasoned  and  orderly  movements  of 
our  minds. 

There  are,  from  time  to  time,  men  and  women — women 
more  often  than  men — who  are  especially  rich  in  this 
deeper  part  of  their  nature,  who  defer  more  constantly 
to  these  hidden  counsellors,  and  who  profess  to  be 
more  dependent  upon  their  intuitions  than  upon  reasoned 
conclusions.  They  are  folk  of  gleams  and  flashes. 
They  do  not  find  it  easy  to  explain  the  grounds  upon 
which  they  act,  but  their  actions  often  possess  an  ex- 
traordinary wisdom  and  fitness.  They  are  always  guides 
worth  following,  especially  in  delicate  and  involved 
situations  where  other  than  prudential  considerations 
come  into  play.  There  are,  finally,  those  in  whom  all 
such  processes  as  these  are  raised  to  a  unique  power. 
They  live  always  either  in  the  depths  or  upon  the 
heights  ;  they  do  not  share  the  common  processes  of 
our  laborious  lives.  Their  assurances  of  certainty  and 
sense  of  reality  all  shape  themselves  in  the  depths  and 
come  to  them  in  voices,  visions,  ecstasies,  raptures, 
senses  of  certainty,  which  set  them  apart  from  their 
fellows  and  make  them  supremely  citizens  of  a  realm, 
to  which  indeed  no  one  of  us  is  wholly  strange,  but 
in  which  they  have  their  birthright.  These  are  the 
mystics. 

We  see,  then,  that  they  really  carry  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree  methods  which  we  all  brokenly  employ, 
and  are  marvellous  manifestations  of  a  psychical  tem- 
per, traces  of  which  may  be  found  even  in  the  most 
commonplace  and  least  imaginative  of  men.     They  are 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  159 

not  always  normal — genius  is  never  normal — but  they 
possess  something  of  that  force  which  we  recognize 
in  art,  music  and  poetry  as  the  truly  creative  and  the 
rare  gift  of  God  to  man.  The  mystics  are  the  artists, 
the  poets,  the  musicians  of  the  moods  and  tempers  of 
the  soul.  They  are  attuned  to  rare  vibrations,  they  have 
eyes  for  the  lights  and  shadows  which  play  across  the  sur- 
face of  restless  souls  and  spirits  yearning  for  peace. 
Their  conclusions  are  the  revelation  of  the  hidden  proc- 
esses of  wonderfully  acute  and  sensitive  personalities 
who  have  allowed  their  emotions  to  guide  them  and  who 
are  profoundly  persuaded  that  purified  and  disciplined 
emotion  can  never  be  a  false  guide. 

For  here  is  the  second  psychical  characteristic  of  the 
mystic :  he  seeks  so  to  purify  and  exalt  his  desires  that 
they  shall  direct  themselves  only  towards  worthy  ends 
and,  having  so  purified  them,  he  follows  them  without 
question.  We  are  coming  clearly  to  see  that  we  have 
no  right  to  set  up  water-tight  bulkheads  between  the  dif- 
ferent powers  of  the  mind  ;  we  have  no  right,  that  is,  to 
assign  knowing,  feeling  and  willing  to  entirely  different 
regions  of  the  self,  build  an  impassable  wall  between 
them,  and  say  that  each  goes  on  uninfluenced  by  the 
other.  There  is  really  no  figure  of  speech  which  easily 
suggests  their  interpenetration.  Each  is  crippled  without 
the  other.  The  more  nobly  we  live,  the  more  perfect 
the  unity  of  their  interwoven  action.  We  speak  of  pas- 
sionless thinking  ;  we  even  exalt  it  as  an  ideal.  It  is  no 
ideal  at  all.  Passionless  thinking  is  sterile,  wanting  in 
carrying  and  constructive  power.  Great  thinking  always 
glows  as  with  hidden  fires  and  kindles  us  as  we  follow  it 
by  the  contagious  heat  of  it.  When  great  emotions  feed 
into  great  mental  processes,  then  thought  frees  itself  of 


i6o      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

limitations  and — nobly  adventurous — claims  time  for  the 
field  of  its  action  and  all  the  revelation  of  God  in  earth 
and  sea  and  sky  as  its  material — then  and  then  only.  I 
cannot  conceive  any  mental  operation,  even  in  the  region 
of  pure  mathematics,  which  does  not  rise  in  efficacy  as  it 
begins  to  glow  with  that  driving  intensity  of  which  every 
thinker  at  his  best  is  always  conscious,  and  which  is  nothing 
other  than  the  contribution  of  a  deep  and  steadying  emotion 
to  the  mind's  most  austere,  difficult,  and  searching  tasks. 

All  this  is  even  more  true  of  the  operations  of  the  will. 
Feeling  feeds  into  will  its  sustaining  and  conquering 
qualities.  Those  dominant  volitions  which  have  made 
armies  mobile  and  irresistible,  moulded  senates  and  cabi- 
nets to  one  imperious  desire,  or  fused  the  wayward  pur- 
poses of  multitudes  into  a  compact  and  effective  national 
will,  have  always  at  the  heart  of  them  an  adequate  and 
unconquerable  passion.  Feeling  is,  moreover,  something 
more  than  a  contributive  and  resolving  force  ;  it  is  a  hght- 
bearing  guide.  Feeling  at  its  best — disciplined,  re- 
strained, hallowed — gives  a  direction  and  a  right  direc- 
tion to  the  whole  expression  of  life. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  emotions  themselves 
are  as  dependent  upon  thought  and  will  as  thought  and 
will  are  dependent  upon  them.  They  are  neither  capri- 
cious servants  nor  lawless  masters  ;  least  of  all  are  they  to 
be  blind  guides.  Undisciplined  feeling — feeling  for  the 
wrong  thing — must  lead  men  terribly  astray,  and  the 
fires  which  are  so  fed  into  the  operation  of  either  mind 
or  will  may  come  directly  from  the  nether  regions.  A 
true  mystic  assigns  a  value  to  emotion  far,  far  beyond  the 
wont  of  other  men  ;  but  he  subjects  his  emotions,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  such  disciplines  as  other  men  do  not  even 
dare  attempt,  and  secures  for  them  a  validity  so  peculiar 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  i6i 

that  we  must  not  judge  him  for  trusting  them  until  we 
have  seen,  at  least,  how  terribly  he  labours  to  make 
them  fit  to  trust. 

The  third  signal  characteristic  of  the  mystical  process 
which  our  new  psychology  recognizes  and  tries  to  account 
for  is  the  reorganization  of  life  about  new  centres  and 
upon  new  levels.  This  is  really  conversion,  whether 
conversion  be  conceived  of  as  a  sharp  crisis  in  which, 
after  long  spiritual  travail,  old  unwillingnesses  give  way, 
struggling  desires  find  expression,  and  transforming  pur- 
poses become  suddenly  supreme,  or  as  the  culmination 
of  gradual  but  unresting  processes.  We  know  well 
enough  that  life  offers  manifold  centres  of  interest  and 
devotion ;  v/e  may  organize  our  lives  about  the  inner  or 
the  outer,  about  "  ourselves,  ourselves  and  none  beside," 
or  about  great  causes  in  which  self  is  wholly  forgotten ; 
about  the  regnancies  of  the  clay  or  the  regnancies  of  the 
soul.  We  know  well  enough  that  men  do  live  on  differ- 
ent levels ;  that  some  men  live  in  the  basement  of  their 
lives  and  some  in  those  fair  upper  chambers  whose  win- 
dows open  towards  the  sunrising  and  whose  "  name  is 
peace."  And  we  know,  too,  that  all  our  conceptions  of 
life  and  its  meaning,  its  possible  relationships  and  its  en- 
compassing realities,  depend  upon  the  centres  around 
which  our  interests  really  cling,  the  levels  upon  which 
we  live.  There  is  pitifully  little  commerce  between  those 
who  live,  for  example,  on  the  levels  of  noble  intellectual 
interests  and  outlooks  and  those  who  live  on  the  levels 
of  pleasure  or  of  gain.  The  citizens  of  the  higher  re- 
gions find  it  hard  sometimes  to  persuade  those  who  dwell 
in  the  shadows  that  life  has  such  wide  horizons,  such 
radiant  experiences,  such  amplitudes  of  sunrise  and  sun- 
set as  are  their  daily  commonplaces. 


i62      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Here,  too,  the  mystic  goes  far,  far  beyond  the  com- 
monalty of  us.  He  chooses  for  his  dweUing-places  the 
very  highest  places  of  spiritual  communion  and  medita- 
tion. "  It  is  good  for  us  so  to  live,"  he  says,  and  then 
he  builds  his  tabernacles.  He  trains  all  his  powers  to  the 
apprehending  of  God,  and  he  finds  Him.  There  are,  so 
he  testifies,  for  those  who  seek  the  very  highest  levels, 
striving  with  ardour  and  long-held  passion  to  dwell  in 
full  communion  with  God,  realities  of  experience,  wit- 
nesses of  the  soul  itself  to  be  known  indeed  only  by  those 
who  have  paid  their  price,  but  which  are  no  more  to  be 
gainsaid  by  those  of  us  who  do  not  share  them  than 
light  is  to  be  gainsaid  by  the  blind,  music  by  the  deaf, 
or  the  kindling  power  of  truth  by  those  who  have  been 
sordidly  content  with  ignorance  or  stained  desire.  It  is 
not  easy  to  distinguish  clearly  between  the  reorganiza- 
tion of  life  about  new  centres  which  we  call  conversion 
and  the  reorganization  of  life  on  new  levels  which  con- 
stitutes this  or  that  stage  of  the  mystic's  pilgrimage. 
They  are  substantially  the  same  thing.  In  some  in- 
stances the  soul  seems  to  ascend  by  what  is  almost  liter- 
ally a  series  of  emotional  explosions  ;  in  others  the  ascent 
is  more  gradual,  painful,  intelligible.  But  whether  by 
one  road  or  the  other,  all  true  mystics  have  come  at  last 
into  the  same  final  region :  a  region,  that  is,  of  clear- 
held  spiritual  communion,  a  sense  of  oneness  with  God 
which,  in  their  more  rapturous  moments,  floods  their 
souls  with  an  unbelievable  ecstasy  and  always  fills  them 
with  an  unspeakable  peace.  They  have  attained  what 
Underhill  calls  the  transcendental  consciousness. 

Here,  then,  are  the  psychological  bases  of  Mysticism, 
the  possibility  of  submerged  processes  whose  conclusions 
are  known  only  in  flashes  of  intuitions  and  insight;  the 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  163 

real  value  of  the  emotions  as  a  guide  and  compelling 
force  in  thought  and  volition  ;  the  possibility  of  the  re- 
organization of  life  about  new  centres  and  upon  new 
levels,  either  in  sudden  readjustments  which  we  call  con- 
version, or  by  more  gradual  processes  of  growth.  The 
mystic  is  marvellously  open  to  the  pain  of  life's  contra- 
dictions and  inadequacies  ;  he  longs  for  peace  as  watch- 
men for  the  morning.  He  seeks  his  peace  in  the  up- 
holding of  the  everlasting  arms  of  God,  though  he  has 
many  names  for  the  object  of  his  quest.  He  does  not 
reason  ;  his  subconscious  processes  are  so  strong  that  he 
refers  his  problems  to  them  and  accepts  their  conckisions. 
These  conclusions  come  to  him  often  as  voices  or  visions. 
He  is  very  sure  that  God  speaks  to  him  and  he  follows 
these  indications  of  divine  will  without  doubt  or  hesita- 
tion. He  lives  in  his  emotions,  but  seeks  constantly  to 
discipline  and  direct  them.  And  finally,  his  real  interest 
and  concern  rise  from  level  to  level  until  he  believes 
himself  to  have  come  really  into  the  fellowship  of  the  in- 
finite ;  there  he  rests  and  out  of  that  he  speaks.  As  a 
spiritual  adventurer  he  seeks  for  a  city  which  hath  foun- 
dations, whose  builder  and  maker  is  God.  He  is  always 
a  lonely  soul  and  in  the  real  movement  of  his  life  wholly 
independent  of  forms,  authorities,  and  institutions.  He 
may  or  may  not  belong  to  a  Church.  He  commonly 
sadly  puzzles  the  Church  to  which  he  does  belong. 
Sometimes  the  Church  canonizes  him  and  sometimes  ex- 
communicates him.  The  world  looks  at  him  askance ; 
wise  Germans  investigate  him  with  a  Teutonic  thorough- 
ness, make  him  the  subject  of  a  Doctor's  thesis  ;  brilliant 
Frenchmen  rejoice  in  him  as  a  fascinating  example  of 
pathological  mental  action  and  assign  to  him  his  proper 
ward   in   Le  Bicetre.     But   those  to  whom  the  gift  of 


i64      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

insight  has  been  given  are  coming  to  see  that  Mysticism, 
also,  is  one  of  the  highroads  of  the  soul,  which  certain 
who  have  set  out  upon  the  quest  for  God  walk  with  a 
convincing  certainty ; — a  road  which  some  of  us  distrust, 
many  find  difficult,  and  few  find  wholly  possible,  but 
which  has  its  own  proper  gate  of  entrance  into  the 
Heavenly  City,  as  witnessed  by  many  whose  testimonies 
we  are  not  to  scorn  because  we  cannot  walk  their  paths. 

The  indirect  service  of  the  mystic  has  often  out- 
weighed his  more  direct  service.  His  spirit  has  a  com- 
municable and  kindling  power.  He  travels  in  his  loneli- 
ness far,  far  beyond  the  ordinary  frontiers  of  human 
experience,  but  there  are  always  those  who  are  near 
enough  to  heed  and  to  hear  him,  to  translate  his  ecstasies 
into  more  ordered  and  inteUigible  processes,  and  so,  in 
the  end,  to  indicate  to  us,  who  are  also  set  out  upon  the 
quest  for  peace,  something  of  his  assurance  and  to  urge 
us  more  confidently  towards  the  goals  which  he  has  at- 
tained. This  is  only  to  say  that  Mysticism  has  con- 
stantly fed  into  the  life  of  the  spirit  qualities  and  ele- 
ments which  have  sometimes  challenged  us,  sometimes 
heartened,  sometimes  emancipated,  and  often  become 
points  of  departure  for  great  epochs,  both  in  the  inner 
and  the  outer  life  of  man.  This  brings  us  directly  to  the 
'•  Theologia  Germanica." 

I  have  already  dwelt  so  long  upon  the  characteristics 
of  Mysticism  as  a  whole  as  to  leave  httle  room  for  the 
indication  of  its  course  from  St.  Augustine  to  Martin 
Luther.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  Mysticism  with 
which  we  are  chiefly  concerned  was  born  and  nurtured 
beneath  northern  skies.  Italy,  France  and  Spain  have 
not  been  without  their  mystical  schools — we  are  just 
coming   to   see  how    large    are    the    mystical  elements 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  165 

in  Dante — though  indeed  in  all  these  countries  it 
would  be  truer  to  say  that  we  have  had  great  mystics 
rather  than  great  schools  of  mystics  ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
the  clearer  the  sky  the  greater  the  joy  in  life,  and  the 
less  the  constraint  which  drives  men  to  the  quest.  The 
more  wholly,  as  Fr.  Von  Hugel  says,  are  races  given 
over  to  externalism  and  superstition  in  religion,  the  less 
part  does  Mysticism  play  in  the  spiritual  life.  It  would 
be  wholly  unfair,  as  it  is  perhaps  temptingly  easy,  to 
characterize  the  religion  of  the  south  of  Europe  as  fun- 
damentally external,  still  it  has  been  hard  for  Mysticism 
to  secure  any  real  foothold  in  the  life  of  the  Latin 
peoples  generally.  There  are,  on  the  other  hand,  deep 
affinities  between  the  Northern  temperament  and  the 
mystical  temper;  the  very  literature  of  the  North  wit- 
nesses to  it  constantly  ;  our  noblest  poetry  has  always 
been  burdened  with  the  sense  of  the  mystery  of  life. 
Our  souls,  like  our  sky,  have  their  mists ;  and  yet  be- 
neath these  mists  we  yearn,  as  the  children  of  sunnier 
skies  have  never  yearned,  for  the  peace  which  passeth 
understanding.  We  have  been  more  lonely  in  our 
quests  ;  we  have  felt  more  distinctly  the  burden  which 
has  been  laid  upon  us,  one  by  one.  We  are  less  able  to 
hand  over  our  spiritual  concerns  to  infallible  authorities 
and  forget  our  restlessnesses  in  the  temporalities  of  life. 
We  have  followed  the  call  of  the  eternal  as  men  follow 
the  call  of  a  bell  through  the  fog,  or  the  blare  of  a 
trumpet  from  some  half-hidden  high-held  fortress. 

"  .     .     .     Ever  and  anon  a  trumpet  sounds 
From  the  hid  battlements  of  Eternity, 
Those  shaken  mists  a  space  unsettle,  then 
Round  the  half-glimpsed  turrets  slowly  wash  again."  * 

^  Evelyn  Underbill,  "  Mysticism,"  p.  87. 


i66      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

No  wonder,  then,  that  in  Germany  especially,  as  the 
mediaeval  Catholic  Church  became  more  and  more  ex- 
ternalistic  and  more  and  more  sterile  in  any  possible  an- 
swer to  the  deep  needs  of  the  soul,  men  and  women 
turned  from  the  assurances  of  priests,  whose  absolutions 
brought  no  peace  and  whose  lives  were  sadly  marred 
epistles,  to  the  search  for  the  inner  peace.  This  move- 
ment was  wholly  national.  The  one  book  which  of  all 
mystic  treatises  the  plain  man  can  most  easily  understand 
was  fathered  by  all  the  deeper  spiritual  life  of  the  great 
people  whose  heart  it  uncovers  and  to  whose  leaders  it 
brought  impulses  which  changed  the  face  of  history.  It 
is  rightly  named  after  a  nation.  It  is  the  "  Theologia 
Germanica." 

We  have  only  to  take  any  representative  treatise  on 
Mysticism,  for  example  the  work  of  Evelyn  Underhill, 
to  whom  the  writer  of  this  study  is  so  much  in  debt,  to 
see  that,  while  there  are  common  elements  in  all  mysti- 
cism ('*  all  mystics,"  says  Saint  Martin,  "  speak  the  same 
language  and  come  from  the  same  country  ")  they  differ 
greatly  in  their  explanation  of  their  own  experiences, 
and  are  prone  to  use  a  terminology  which  is  truly  be- 
wildering. Many  mystics  claimed — as  a  sign  of  their 
increasing  perfection  in  the  mystic  state — to  be  able  to 
write  endlessly  without  premeditation  or  any  knowledge 
of  what  they  were  about  to  say.  And  with  all  due  re- 
gard to  the  exalted  sources  from  which  they  suppose 
their  inspirations  to  be  drawn,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
a  vast  deal  of  their  writing  reads  as  if  it  had  been  written 
in  just  that  way.  Clarity  is  not  the  mystic's  virtue.  The 
mystic  has,  moreover,  his  scholastic  vocabulary,  his  cata- 
logue of  stages,  his  analysis  of  states— a  terminology  to 
which   most  of  us  have  never   even  had  the  key  and 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  167 

which  drives  us  wild  before  we  have  read  a  chapter  of  it. 
The  mystic's  somewhat  erratic  habit  of  composition,  the 
difficult  nature  of  his  subject-matter,  his  impossibly 
technical  vocabulary,  and  his  want  of  agreement  in  all 
these  matters  with  others  of  his  kind  make  the  whole 
literature  of  Mysticism — with  blessed  exceptions,  of 
course — a  kind  of  sealed  book — caviare  to  the  ordinary. 
How  greatly  this  has  hindered  the  mystic's  propaganda 
goes  without  saying.  If  a  movement  so  rich  in  trans- 
forming possibilities  as  mediaeval  German  mysticism  is 
ever  to  move  common  men,  it  must  speak  their  lan- 
guage, clothe  itself  in  their  forms,  come  to  them,  re- 
baptizing  in  its  rich  experience  what  they  know  and 
love  best. 

Now  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  does  just  that.  It 
clothes  the  mystical  experience  with  the  familiar  forms 
of  Christian  thought,  or — to  turn  the  matter  about — fills 
the  familiar  forms  of  Christian  thought  with  the  mystical 
experience.  You  will  read  the  book  once  or  twice  before 
it  ever  occurs  to  you  that  here  is  anything  else  than  an 
early  anticipation  of  the  evangelical  spirit  which  has  be- 
come, through  the  Protestant  Reformation,  our  common 
inheritance,  whose  phases  are  part  of  our  birthright,  and 
whose  experiences  we  have  all  somewhat  shared.  But  if 
you  will  take  any  analysis  of  the  stages  of  the  mystical 
ascent  of  the  soul,  you  will  see  that  stage  by  stage  they 
are  recorded  in  the  "  Theologia  Germanica."  The  passion 
for  the  perfect,  which  is  the  beginning  of  the  mystic's 
pilgrimage,  the  awakening  of  the  self,  the  purification  of 
the  self,  the  illumination  of  the  self,  the  contemplative 
peace  and  the  sense  of  unity  with  God,  which  are  all  part 
of  the  mystic's  discipline,  are  here  recorded.  But  they 
have  been  merged  so  perfectly  with  the  various  aspects 


i68      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

of  our  evangelical  faith  and  the  various  stages  of  our  own 
spiritual  experience  that  they  are  no  longer  a  strange 
language,  but  of  the  very  essence  of  the  mother  tongue 
of  our  spirits. 

The  significance  of  all  this  has  not,  on  the  whole,  been 
enough  dwelt  upon,  nor  is  it  easy  to  get  at  the  heart  of 
it,  but  here  is  a  testimony  that  without  any  forcing  and 
in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world  the  whole  experi- 
ence of  the  mystic  can  be  made  to  fit  perfectly  within  the 
frame  of  evangelical  Christianity.  We  do  not  discern  in 
the  backgrounds  of  the  picture  any  unfamiliar  features  ;  it 
seems  our  own  native  country.  Evangelical  Protestant- 
ism is  itself,  at  the  real  heart  of  it,  a  mysticism  ;  Christi- 
anity not  only  yields  itself  to,  but  demands  a  mystical 
interpretation ;  the  great  central  realities  of  our  faith  do 
not  disclose  their  full  interior  meaning  until  they  are  seen 
to  be  God's  answer  to  man's  eternal  quest,  God's  medi- 
ated gift  of  peace  to  the  troubled  souls  of  His  children. 

The  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  is,  in  the  noblest  sense, 
anonymous  ;  that  is,  we  do  not  know  the  author ;  but  we 
do  know  the  movement  which  begot  it.  The  **  Divme 
Comedy,"  says  Carlyle,  is  the  voice  of  twelve  silent  centu- 
ries ;  the  "  Theologia  Germanica "  is  the  voice  of  the 
spiritual  labour  of  Northern  Europe  in  the  fourteenth 
century.  The  mystical  school  of  which  it  is  the  expres- 
sion is  commonly  known  in  all  histories  of  Mysticism  as 
the  school  of  the  Friends  of  God.  I  have  used  school 
here,  recognizing  clearly  enough  how  inadequate  and 
misleading  it  is,  for  the  Friends  of  God  were  neither  a 
school  nor  a  cult.  A  group  of  men  and  women,  known 
and  unknown,  living  in  Germany  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  were  moved  by  common  impulses,  expressed 
a  common  temper,  shared  their  experiences,  and  reacted 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  169 

one  upon  the  other  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  distinct 
unity,  not  only  to  their  history,  but  to  their  disciphne, 
experience  and  teaching.  "  All  the  leaders  of  the  move- 
ment were  profoundly  influenced  by  the  teaching  of  the 
luminous  figure  of  German  mysticism,  Meister  Eckhart, 
but  they  were  hardly  less  definitely  influenced  by  the 
apocalyptic  writings  of  the  great  German  *  prophetesses  ' 
of  the  two  preceding  centuries — St.  Hildegarde,  St. 
Elizabeth  of  Schoeman,  and  St.  Matilda  of  Magdeburg. 
The  writings  of  these  famous  women  are  full  of  incidents, 
phrases,  and  images  which  formed  *  suggestion  material ' 
for  the  experience  and  ideas  of  the  Friends  of  God.  In 
fact,  they  have  very  similar  conceptions  of  the  Church, 
of  the  world,  and  of  the  impending  catastrophes  that  are 
about  to  break  upon  both  the  world  and  the  Church."  ^ 

The  fourteenth  century  was  one  of  the  troubled  centu- 
ries of  history.  Every  state  in  Europe  was  in  a  welter 
of  anarchy ;  the  old  mediaeval  order  was  breaking  up  in 
unspeakable  confusion.  The  breaking  of  the  ice-pack  in 
northern  seas,  with  the  spring  tides  beneath  and  the  new- 
risen  sun  above,  is  tranquillity  itself  compared  with  the 
confusion  of  that  time.  It  was  indeed  a  prophetic  con- 
fusion, a  travail  rather  than  a  catastrophe.  A  new  world 
was  in  the  way  of  being  born,  but  the  pain  of  its  birth 
was  beyond  expression.  France  had  been  scourged  by 
the  devastations  of  the  One  Hundred  Years'  War,  her 
peasants  had  been  driven  to  live  underground  like  beasts. 
The  narrow  streets  of  her  battle-scarred  cities  were  popu- 
lated by  ghosts  of  men  and  women  pallid  with  famine. 
England  was  beginning  to  pay,  in  the  feuds  of  her  great 
lords  and  the  shame  of  her  royal  house,  for  her  fierce 
exploitation    of  her   neighbour.     Germany   was    wholly 

1  Rufus  M.  Jones,  "  Studies  in  Mythical  Religions,"  p.  242. 


I/O      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

wanting  in  any  sense  of  national  unity,  a  confusion  of 
strangely  named  states  and  principalities,  the  incessant 
battle-ground  of  contending  forces.  The  Church  herself, 
the  one  august  and  continuing  authority  in  a  Europe 
grown  old  in  sorrow,  lowered  the  dignity  of  her  high 
estate  in  the  Babylonian  captivity,  forfeited  a  unity  which 
had  for  centuries  dominated  the  imaginations  of  men  in 
the  great  schism,  silenced  in  her  fires  of  persecution  the 
men  who  would  have  shown  her  the  way  of  her  redemp- 
tion, alienated  by  the  wholly  unworthy  lives  of  many  of 
her  high  officials  the  regard  of  the  sensitive  and  high- 
minded.  There  have  been  few  periods,  since  the  be- 
ginnings of  Christianity,  when  men  and  women  of  finer 
natures  found  themselves  so  wholly  alien  to  the  world  in 
which  they  lived.  Eucken  has  just  been  telling  us  that  a 
world  in  which  men  are  much  at  ease  is  always  spiritually 
sterile ;  it  is  to  be  said,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a  world 
in  which  men  feel  themselves  bitterly  at  odds  with  their 
environment  and  when  life's  externalities  offer  little  to 
console  or  distract  or  inspire,  is  a  world  in  which  they 
are  driven  either  to  revolution  or  to  God.  The  finer 
spirits  of  Northern  Europe  turned  to  God.  We  see  now 
how  fruitful  was  this  instinctive  necessity.  There  are 
times  when  the  greatest  service  men  can  render,  not  only 
to  their  own  age,  but  to  succeeding  ages,  is  to  forget  the 
world  and  seek  anew  the  compensations  and  the  com- 
radeships of  the  Eternal,  for  it  is  thus  that  our  world  is 
remade. 

There  is  a  group  of  men  just  now  who,  in  their  noble 
and  wholly  justifiable  passion  for  a  better  social  order,  are 
sharply  indicting  the  religious  leaders  of  other  times 
because  they  turned  aside  to  the  search  after  God  when 
the  hungry  needed  to  be  fed,  the  enslaved  to  be  freed, 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  171 

regnant  injustices  to  be  rebuked,  and  the  cause  of  the 
poor  to  be  pleaded  before  all  tribunals,  whether  of  earth 
or  heaven.  Such  indictments  are  not  only  unjust  in  that 
they  judge  men  by  our  standards  rather  than  the  standards 
of  their  own  time,  but  they  are  blind  in  that  they  fail  to 
discern  how,  again  and  again,  the  men  who  have  seem- 
ingly done  least  for  the  world  and  its  temporalities  have 
done  the  most  for  it.  When  the  times  are  to  be  remade, 
it  is  necessary  to  begin  a  long  way  back.  Tempers 
must  be  changed,  conceptions  altered,  new  forces  released, 
and  a  new  spirit  created.  St.  Paul  did  that  as  he  sought 
to  make  men  spiritually  free,  strangely  careless  about  the 
emancipation  of  the  body  of  the  slave  if  only  he  might 
free  his  soul.  Saul  of  Tarsus  as  a  labour  agitator,  the 
leader  of  a  revolt  against  Rome  or  even  the  passionate 
prophet  of  social  justice,  would  have  ended  where  he 
began,  while  the  sheer  brute  force  of  an  immense 
materialized  order  would  have  driven  across  his  protesta- 
tions. But  St.  Paul,  liberating  and  transforming  spiri- 
tual forces,  has  made  liberty  operative  through  the  cen- 
turies and  its  morning  has  just  begun  to  rise.  St. 
Augustine  in  giving  direction  to  purifying  and  fruitful 
conceptions  of  spiritual  relationship  leavened  the  whole 
of  Europe  for  one  thousand  years.  The  Friends  of  God 
in  turning  from  earth  to  heaven,  from  the  welter  of  a 
changing  world  to  an  inner  and  unclouded  peace,  and 
from  the  temporal  to  the  eternal,  released  forces  which 
we  may  now  see  to  have  been  the  really  seminal  forces  in 
the  political  revolutions  and  social  regenerations  of  the 
last  three  hundred  years. 

They  sought,  so  their  spokesman  tells  us  in  the  very 
first  chapter  of  the  "  Theologia,"  they  sought  that  which  is 
perfect.     True  enough,  the  voice  goes  on  to  say  directly, 


172      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

"  *  that  which  is  perfect '  is  a  Being,  who  hath  compre- 
hended and  included  all  things  in  Himself  and  Mis  own 
Substance."  All  this  seems  remote  enough,  but  in  a 
world  so  wanting  as  was  theirs  in  every  outer  sign  of  the 
perfect,  the  passion  for  perfection  w^as  the  supreme  and 
primary  need  nor  did  it  greatly  matter  in  what  direction 
their  quest  led  them.  When  we  have  really  set  out  to 
seek  for  the  perfect,  when  we  are  sincere  in  our  search, 
and  when  we  are  willing  to  follow  the  road  to  the  end, 
we  shall  find  not  only  a  new  heaven  but  a  new  earth. 
I  The  key  to  the  knowledge  of  the  perfect  is  to  be 
wholly  sought  in  the  crucifixion  of  self.  I,  self,  and  the 
like  are  creature-nature  qualities.  They  must  all  be  lost 
and  done  away.  "  So  long  as  we  think  much  of  these 
things,  cleave  to  them  with  love,  joy,  pleasure  or  desire, 
so  long  remaineth  the  Perfect  unknown  to  us."  ^  This  is 
the  open  secret  of  all  those  who  set  out  upon  such  roads. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  prior  stage;  the  awakening  of  the  self, 
which  is  the  real  point  of  departure  in  all  the  charts  of 
the  mystics.  That  stage  is  assumed  in  the  *'  Theologia 
Germanica."  It  means,  of  course,  that  we  never  commit 
ourselves  to  any  sort  of  enterprise  through  which  we 
hope  to  enrich  or  enlarge  our  lives,  except  as  first  of  all 
the  sense  of  need  moves  within  us,  as  the  Spirit  of  God 
upon  the  face  of  troubled  waters.  There  is  a  contentment 
which  makes  true  peace  impossible,  a  divine  discontent 
to  which,  in  the  end,  the  peace  of  God  is  not  denied. 
It  is  only  as  we  come  to  know  our  possibilities  and 
feel  the  bitterness  of  our  limitations  and  the  urgence  of 
unsatisfied  longing  and  lift  up  our  eyes  to  those  further 
hills  upon  which  the  light  of  the  unattained  and  always 
to  be  desired  forever  lies,  that  we  shake  ourselves  free  of 

1  Chapter  I. 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  173 

our  lethargies  and  set  out,  running  like  Christian,  from 
the  city  of  unworthy  content  which  is  likely  to  become, 
if  we  make  it  our  abiding-place,  the  city  of  destruction. 
But  directly  we  have  set  out,  then,  by  the  deepest  paradox 
in  life,  we  who  have  been  urged  to  depart  by  the  awakened 
self  must  wholly  subordinate  self  to  the  causes  which  we 
serve,  the  goals  which  we  hope  to  reach.  In  the  more 
technical  terminology  this  is  known  as  the  Purification  of 
the  Self.  Purification  from  self  the  '*  Theologia  "  would 
call  it.  Contrition,  purgation,  self-simplification,  detach- 
ment are  the  steps  which  constitute  this  stage  of  the 
journey.  This  is  in  substance,  of  course,  the  self-surrender 
of  the  Christian  life.  If  we  are  blind  to  all  this  we  go 
astray  before  the  journey  has  fairly  begun. 

Now  the  •'  Theologia  "  uses  throughout  the  terms  of  our 
evangelical  experience.  This  exaltation  of  the  creature- 
nature  qualities,  from  which  we  must  at  any  cost  be  free, 
is  sin.  "  Sin  is  nought  else,  but  that  the  creature  turneth 
away  from  the  unchangeable  Good  and  betaketh  itself  to 
the  changeable ;  that  is  to  say,  that  it  turneth  away  from 
the  Perfect  to  ♦  that  which  is  in  part '  and  imperfect,  and 
most  often  to  itself.  Now  mark :  when  the  creature 
claimeth  for  its  own  anything  good,  such  as  Substance, 
Life,  Knowledge,  Power,  and  in  short  whatever  we  should 
call  good,  as  if  it  were  that,  or  possessed  that,  or  that  were 
itself,  or  that  proceeded  from  it, — as  often  as  this  cometh  to 
pass,  the  creature  goeth  astray."  '  The  "  Theologia  "  finds 
in  this  a  form  spacious  enough  to  contain  and  explain  the 
costly  indiscretion  of  the  first  parent  of  us  all.  "  What  else 
did  Adam  do  but  this  same  thing  ?  It  is  said,  it  was  because 
Adam  ate  the  apple  that  he  was  lost,  or  fell.  I  say,  it 
was  because  of  his  claiming  something  for  his  own,  and 

»  Chapter  II. 


174      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

because  of  his  I,  Mine,  Me,  and  the  Hke.  Had  he  eaten 
seven  apples,  and  yet  never  claimed  anything  for  his  own, 
he  would  not  have  fallen  :  but  as  soon  as  he  called  some- 
thing his  own,  he  fell,  and  would  have  fallen  if  he  had 
never  touched  an  apple."  ^  This  fall  was  amended  by 
the  Incarnation,  by  such  an  entrance,  that  is,  of  God 
into  our  human  life  that  He  Himself  was  made  man  and 
man  was  made  divine.  Our  own  fall  must  be  amended 
as  was  the  fall  of  Adam.  We  all  stumble  on  the  same 
thing,  and  to  us  all  healing  comes  in  the  same  guise. 
We  cannot  compass  our  own  restoration  without  God, 
nor  indeed  can  God  compass  our  restoration  without  us 
and  in  this  cooperation  of  the  human  and  the  divine 
there  is  such  a  fusion  of  man  and  God  that  we  are  truly 
become  a  new  creature. 

The  •'  Theologia "  here  touches  and  dismisses  in  a 
single  appealing  sentence  conceptions  by  which  the 
Friends  of  God  were  greatly  governed  and  in  the  expres- 
sion of  which  they  more  than  once  gave  offense  to  the 
more  robust  theological  sense  of  their  own  time.  Eck- 
hart,  for  example,  seemed  to  his  contemporaries  to  drive 
often  enough  dangerously  near  the  verge  of  blasphemy  ; 
he  seems  to  us,  who  understand  him  better,  to  be  again 
and  again  in  the  way  of  crossing  those  frontiers  against 
which  Mysticism,  in  its  best  estate,  is  always  pressing, 
and  to  lose  himself  in  a  pantheism,  wherein  distinctions 
to  which  we  must  hold  if  we  are  to  think  clearly  or  live 
bravely,  are  always  likely  to  be  lost.  In  the  "  Theologia  " 
this  danger  is  escaped,  but  one  may  find  between  the 
hnes  signs  enough  of  the  school  to  which  the  author 
belongs. 

If  sin,  he  goes  on,  is  on  the  one  side  the  exaltation  of 

1  Chapter  III. 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  175 

the  creature-nature  and  the  claiming  for  our  own  of  any 
lesser  good,  sin  is,  on  the  other  hand,  the  failure  to  love 
the  best.  "  That  which  is  best  should  be  the  dearest  of 
all  things  to  us ;  and  in  love  of  it,  neither  helpfulness  nor 
unhelpfulness,  advantage  nor  injury,  gain  nor  loss,  honour 
nor  dishonour,  praise  nor  blame,  nor  anything  of  the  kind 
should  be  regarded ;  but  what  is  in  truth  the  noblest  and 
best  of  all  things,  should  be  also  the  dearest  of  all  things, 
and  that  for  no  other  cause  than  that  it  is  the  noblest  and 
best."  '  In  such  a  sentence  as  that  the  pilgrim  has  taken 
to  the  highroad. 

In  the  brief  but  pregnant  chapter  which  treats  "  Of  the 
Eyes  of  the  Spirit,  wherewith  Man  looketh  into  Eternity 
and  into  Time,  and  how  the  one  is  hindered  of  the  other 
in  its  Workings,"  2  the  "  Theologia  "  comes  at  the  very 
heart  of  the  old  mystical  contention  ;  the  contention, 
that  is,  that  we  possess  what  Underhill  calls  the  sense  of 
the  transcendental  and  that  the  soul  has  the  capacity,  not 
only  of  the  immediate  apprehension  of  spiritual  truth,  but 
of  such  a  vision  of  God  as  makes  Him  the  one  reality  and 
all  else  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision.  Here  are  matters 
which  are  too  high  for  speech  and  to  which  our  sense- 
born  vocabularies  lend  themselves  reluctantly. 

*'  Vague  words  !  but  ah,  how  hard  to  frame 
In  matter-moulded  forms  of  speech, 
Or  even  for  intellect  to  reach 
Thro'  memory  that  which  I  became." 

We  have  an  unbroken  testimony,  old  as  the  quest  of 
the  soul  for  peace,  that  God  may  be  known,  not  by  the 
laborious  processes  of  reason,  or  even  by  the  rapt  confi- 
dences of  faith,  but  in  experiences  which  carry  with  them 

»  Chapter  VI.  «  Chapter  VII. 


1/6      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

their  own  verification,  are  no  more  to  be  gainsaid  than 
any  other  first  hand  content  of  experience,  and  become 
wonderfully  fruitful,  not  only  in  all  the  graces  of  the 
spirit,  but  in  a  sane  and  practical  effectiveness  of  life. 
For  the  mystics  have  always  discovered  unexpected  prac- 
ticabilities, they  have  borne  heavy  burdens,  fought  brave 
battles,  directed  great  affairs,  dealt  with  endless  detail, 
and  somehow — children  of  the  clouds  as  we  have  always 
thought  them  to  be — have  moved  in  the  affairs  of  this 
world  with  a  security  and  wrought  with  a  deftness  some- 
times sadly  wanting  in  those  who  boasted  themselves  of 
their  practicality  and  looked  askance  at  the  dreamer 
and  the  mystic.  Surely  here  is  a  testimony  not  easy  to 
be  thrown  out  of  court ;  an  insistent  witness  to  realities 
short  of  which  we  may  not  stop,  beyond  which  we  may 
not  pass.  In  the  light  of  such  a  testimony  the  hindering 
forms  of  sense  withdraw  themselves,  the  life  within  and  the 
life  without  overpassing  the  barriers  which  separate 
them, — nay,  rather  finding  in  all  the  vast  mystery  of  the 
outer  world  but  the  vehicle  of  communion  between  soul 
and  Over-Soul, — meet  at  last  in  a  fellowship  in  which  all 
that  men  would  ask  of  God  is  granted  and  all  that  God 
would  say  to  man  is  understood. 

''  Speak  to  Him  ihou,  for  He  heareth, 
And  spirit  with  spirit  can  meet, 
Closer  is  He  than  breathing, 

And  nearer  than  hands  or  feet." 

"  Now,"  says  the  "  Theologia,"  "  the  created  soul  of  man 
hath  also  two  eyes.  The  one  is  the  power  of  seeing  into 
eternity,  the  other  of  seeing  into  time  and  the  creatures, 
of  perceiving  how  they  differ  from  each  other  as  afore- 
said, of  giving  life  and  needful  things  to  the  body,  and 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  177 

ordering  and  governing  it  for  the  best.  But  these  two 
eyes  of  the  soul  of  man  cannot  both  perform  their  work 
at  once ;  but  if  the  soul  shall  see  with  the  right  eye  into 
eternity,  then  the  left  eye  must  close  itself  and  refrain 
from  working,  and  be  as  though  it  were  dead."  ^ 

There  is  no  explaining  a  passage  like  that.  The 
power  of  it  lies  first  in  its  suggestion,  and  second  in  the 
absolute  persuasion  of  the  man  who  wrote  it  that  he  is 
seeing  into  eternity.  For  us  who  are  not  equal  to  these 
high  things,  closing  the  eye  of  sense  must  mean  that  we 
are  not  to  allow  ourselves  to  be  so  wholly  lost  in  our  in- 
terests and  occupations  and  passing  pleasures  as  to  dull 
our  powers  of  spiritual  apprehension  and  lose  all  possible 
touch  with  higher  and  better  things.  In  all  this  the 
psychologist  reenforces  the  mystic  ;  a  bifocal  soul  com- 
plicates all  the  situations  of  life.  Jesus  Himself  has  said 
it,  "  Ye  cannot  serve  two  masters."  The  organization  of 
life  about  commonplace  things  and  on  commonplace 
levels  does  make  us  strangely  insensible,  not  only  to  the 
call  of  higher  things,  but  to  their  very  existence.  If  we 
have  any  quarrel  at  all  with  the  mystic,  it  is  because  he  is 
lacking  in  the  great  and  heartening  recognition  that  God 
fulfills  Himself  in  many  ways.  We  do  not  need  to  dis- 
tinguish so  sharply  as  the  mystic  distinguished  between 
the  world  of  sense  and  spirit.  The  commonest  objects  of 
sense  are  instinct  with  mystery.  Our  God  speaks  to  us 
with  manifold  voices,  may  be  discovered  in  sights  and 
sounds,  fellowships  and  occupations,  tints  the  *•  little 
speedwell's  darling  blue,"  orders  the  majestic  outgoing  of 
the  belted  constellation  of  Orion.  If  our  vision  were 
keen  enough  we  should  see  in  the  tables  upon  which  we 
write  the  revelation  of  forces  as  truly  wonderful  as  the 

»  Chapter  VII. 


1/8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

beatific  vision ;  if  our  ears  were  keen  enough  we  might 
hear,  even  in  the  silences,  the  rush  of  tides  which  sweep 
by  as  the  very  garment  of  God.  God  is,  after  all,  to  be 
discerned,  not  so  much  by  closing  as  by  opening  our 
eyes.  We  do  not  need  to  refuse  to  see  things,  but  we 
have  immense  need  to  see  through  and  beyond  things. 
The  two  eyes  of  the  soul  of  man  not  only  can,  but  mus't 
perform  their  work  at  once.  The  question  is,  not  which 
eye  must  be  closed,  but  rather  by  what  light  we  shall  be 
guided  and  in  terms  of  what  reality  we  shall  interpret 
what  we  see.  If  it  were  possible  to  change  the  figure  of 
the  "  Theologia  "  without  making  it  really  grotesque,  we 
might  better  say  that  the  soul  has  two  eyes,  the  one  far- 
sighted,  sensitive  to  reahties  and  relationships  far,  far  be- 
yond the  immediate  foreground  of  our  lives,  the  other 
much  occupied  with  that  foreground  and  its  employments, 
and  that  finally  the  meaning  of  all  sensible  and  immediate 
things  is  to  be  understood  only  as  we  interpret  them  in 
the  light  of  deeper  realities,  vaster  meanings,  diviner 
destinies  which  the  other  eye  supplies.  Somewhere  in 
all  this,  if  the  reader  will  puzzle  it  out  for  himself,  is  the 
equivalent  of  the  distinctions  which  we  draw  between 
knowledge  and  faith,  reason  and  speculation,  experience 
and  its  necessary  interpretations.  Our  greatest  need  to- 
day is  not  to  free  ourselves  from  a  world  in  which  God  is 
sadly  wanting  in  common  experiences  and  dear  and 
familiar  realities,  but  rather  to  transfigure  our  outer  and 
inner  world  by  such  a  sense  of  His  immanence  as  makes 
every  soul  His  dwelling-place,  every  experience  the 
broken  accent  of  the  eternal  message,  every  reality  the 
manifestation  of  His  power  and  wisdom.  Then  ♦*  earth 
is  crammed  with  heaven  and  every  bush  aflame  with 
God." 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  179 

The  movement  of  the  "  Theologia  "  is,  on  the  whole, 
simple  enough.  There  is  no  little  repetition  and  much 
returning  to  dwell  upon  its  central  thesis.  Blessedness  is 
the  goal  which  it  seeks,  obedience  and  self-renunciation 
are  something  more  than  the  guide-posts  which  point 
towards  the  goal  ]  they  are  themselves  the  road  by  which 
the  goal  is  reached.  The  goal  itself  is  a  blessedness 
which  "  lieth  not  in  any  creature,  or  work  of  the  crea- 
tures, but  it  lieth  alone  in  God  and  in  His  works.  Self- 
will,  self-assertion,  the  affirmation  of  me  and  mine,  are 
stones  of  stumbling  which  must  be  avoided  at  any  cost. 
Our  hearts  are  to  be  so  pure  that  we  shall  desire  only 
the  knowledge  of  God  and  the  perfect  expression  of  His 
will  in  our  lives.  We  are  to  renounce  all  desire  except 
"  the  desire  to  go  forward  and  get  nearer  to  the  Eternal 
Goodness."  And  we  are  to  be  as  plastically  and  im- 
mediately responsive  to  the  divine  will  as  our  hands  are 
to  our  own  wills.  All  this  the  "  Theologia  "  gathers  up  in 
one  golden  sentence,  termless  and  timeless.  "  I  would 
fain  be  to  the  Eternal  Goodness  what  His  own  hand  is 
to  a  man."  '  Few  sentences  ever  spoken  carry  further 
than  that ;  it  is  vastly  more  than  the  mystic's  expression, 
it  is  the  universal  and  unescapable  law  of  peace  and 
power  in  any  region  of  life  or  service.  The  scientist  in 
his  laboratory,  the  electrician  in  the  installation  of  his 
plants,  the  farmer  driving  his  furrow  beneath  the  April 
sky,  the  poet  seeking  to  convey  in  winged  words  the 
secret  of  his  serene  and  kindling  vision,  Dante  in  his 
interpretation  of  life  and  its  stages,  the  mystic  in  his 
longing  after  rest, — are  all  alike  beneath  the  domination 
of  the  truth  which  this  sentence  gathers  up  and  expresses. 
Plastic  obedience  to  laws  and  realities  beyond  and  above 

»  Chapter  X. 


i8o      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

ourselves  is  always  the  secret  of  empire.  Whether  in 
small  things  or  great,  the  more  perfectly  we  understand 
and  express,  either  the  will  of  an  electric  current  or  the 
will  of  God,  the  more  perfectly  are  we  reenforced  by  a 
power  not  ourselves,  the  more  fully  do  we  appropriate 
the  opulence  of  the  Eternal,  the  more  splendidly  do  we 
exalt  and  empower  ourselves  as  we  humble  and  empty 
ourselves. 

The  wholly  responsive  flexibility  of  the  mind  to  all 
the  suggestions  and  dominations  of  truth  is  the  secret  of 
true  efficacy  in  any  region  of  thought.  Such  an  im- 
mediate and  almost  automatic  response  of  the  will  to 
goodness  is  the  secret  of  that  sanctity  which  has  ceased 
to  be  a  struggle  and  has  become  the  serene  and  inevi- 
table habitude  of  the  soul.  Such  facile  subordination  of 
all  hfe,  such  openness  of  all  our  channels  to  the  spirit  of 
God  is  the  end  of  all  spiritual  discipline  and  the  thresh- 
old of  a  deathless  peace. 

Now  it  is  the  high  distinction  of  the  "  Theologia  Ger- 
manica  "  not  only  to  say  all  this  over  and  over  again  in 
simple  and  compelUng  fashion  until  we  are  persuaded  of 
its  truth,  but  to  relate  it  all  to  what  is  most  familiar  in 
our  Christian  faith.  The  life  of  Christ  is  set  up  not  only 
as  the  perfect  example  of  what  the  true  life  really  is,  but 
as  the  living  way  by  which  we  ourselves  shall  attain  the 
true  life.  It  is  only  as  we  become  participants  of  His 
life  that  we  enter  into  peace.  And  yet  directly  we  are 
told  this,  lest  we  should  lose  ourselves  in  matters  too 
high  for  us,  we  are  told  that  we  share  the  life  of  Christ 
as  we  take  up  our  crosses  and  follow  Him,  forsaking  all 
**  the  beggarly  elements  "  of  tliis  world  which  may  keep 
us  either  from  the  true  light  or  the  Master's  fellowship. 
This  indeed  is  not  easy,  and  it  is  only  as  we  are  pos- 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  i8i 

sessed  by  the  spirit  of  God  that  it  becomes  possible. 
Once  more  we  are  told  that  we  are  possessed  by  the 
spirit  of  God  in  so  far  as,  resigned  and  submissive  to 
God,  we  take  all  things  as  from  His  hands.  «•  And  he 
who  would  be  obedient,  resigned  and  submissive  to  God, 
must  and  ought  to  be  also  resigned,  obedient  and  sub- 
missive to  all  things,  in  a  spirit  of  yielding,  and  not  of 
resistance,  and  take  them  in  silence,  resting  on  the 
hidden  foundations  of  his  soul,  and  having  a  secret  in- 
ward patience,  that  enableth  him  to  take  all  chances  or 
crosses  willingly,  and  whatever  befalleth,  neither  to  call 
for  nor  desire  any  redress,  or  deliverance,  or  resistance, 
or  revenge,  but  always  in  a  loving,  sincere  humility  to 
cry,  *  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do  ! '  "  *  This  is  indeed  that  union  with  the  Divine  will, 
that  true  inward  peace  which  Christ  left  to  His  disciples 
at  the  last. 

There  are  three  stages  by  which  all  this  is  attained  : — 
first,  Purification ;  second,  EnHghtening ;  third,  Union.* 
Here,  in  a  general  way,  the  *'  Theologia  "  follows  the  well- 
marked  stages  of  the  mystic's  roads.  These  stages  are 
often  much  amplified  ;  each  mystic  has  his  own  termi- 
nology and  out  of  his  own  experience  draws  that  curious 
chart  of  his  soul's  progress  in  which  men  have  so  often 
sought  to  portray  the  unportrayable  and  render  evident 
to  the  eyes  of  sense  the  dear-bought  fruits  of  their  spiri- 
tual travail.  There  is  a  most  curious  literature  here,  with 
which  we  do  not  need  to  concern  ourselves  ;  it  is  enough 
to  say  that  these  three  stages  are  necessary  and  funda- 
mental in  all  the  interpretations  of  life;  no  one  ever 
escapes  either  littleness,  ignorance,  or  powerlessness  in 
any  direction  without  repeating  them  in  his  own  ex- 

»  Chapter  XXIII.  «  Chapter  XIV. 


1 82      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

perience.  "  Put  off,"  says  the  Apostle,  "  the  old  man," 
— that  is  Purification  ;  "  be  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  your 
mind," — that  is  Enlightening  ;  ♦'  put  on  the  new  man," — 
that  is  Union. 

Such  a  process  as  this  takes  time ;  no  one  can  be  made 
perfect  in  a  day.  Moreover,  we  are  not,  to  begin  with, 
independent  of  guides  and  outer  disciplines.  The  end 
of  the  quest  is  a  spiritual  self-sufificiency  or,  one  would 
better  say,  a  life  so  perfectly  suffused  with  God  that 
forms,  institutions,  sacraments,  orders,  instructions  be- 
come wholly  immaterial.  The  full  significance  of  all 
this,  in  connection,  for  example,  with  the  Church  and 
her  disciplines,  we  shall  presently  consider ;  it  is  enough 
to  say  now  that  the  mystics  themselves  seem  to  have 
felt  that  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  withdraw  himself  too 
soon  from  such  outward  guidance,  to  cast  down  the 
ladder  before  his  wings  are  fully  fledged.  The  true 
mystic  may,  therefore,  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  spiri- 
tual progress  "  receive  example  and  instruction,  reproof, 
counsel  and  teaching  from  devout  and  perfect  servants 
of  God,  and  not  follow  his  own  guidance.  Thus  the 
work  shall  be  established  and  come  to  a  good  end. 
And  when  a  man  hath  thus  broken  loose  from  and  out- 
leaped  all  temporal  things  and  creatures,  he  may  after- 
wards become  perfect  in  a  life  of  contemplation.  For  he 
who  will  have  the  one  must  let  the  other  go.  There  is 
no  other  way."  '  The  "  Theologia  "  doubts,  however,  if  it 
be  possible  for  any  one  before  death  to  attain  so  high  as 
not  to  be  moved  or  touched  by  outward  things.  But 
whether  or  no  this  be  possible,  it  must  always  be  the 
ideal  towards  which  we  strive. 

The  "  Theologia  "  dwells  much  upon  these  stages  of  spiri- 

1  Chapter  XIII. 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  183 

tual  growth  and  there  is  always  in  its  meditations  a  kind  of 
universal  applicability.  Life  is,  after  all,  a  seamless  robe, 
all  its  endeavours  are  related,  and  there  is  an  infinite 
comradeship  in  all  the  better  part  of  our  movings  and  as- 
pirations. Considerations  which  helped  the  mystic  as  he 
sought  the  beatific  vision  will  help  the  schoolboy  as  he 
cons  his  book.  "  To  learn  an  art  which  thou  knowest 
not,  four  things  are  needful.  The  first,  desire  and  dili- 
gence. The  second,  a  copy  or  ensample.  The  third,  to 
give  earnest  heed  to  the  master,  and  watch  how  he  work- 
eth.  The  fourth,  to  put  thine  own  hand  to  the  work, 
and  practice  it  with  industry."  '  Now  if  a  man  will 
bravely  follow  this  road,  wholly  forget  himself,  be  true  to 
the  hght  which  leads  him,  two  things  will  in  the  end  come 
to  pass.  He  will  be  made  a  partaker  of  the  divine  nature. 
This  is  the  stage  which  the  mystic  commonly  calls  deifi- 
cation. The  masters  of  the  school  to  which  the  author 
of  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  belonged  were  not,  as  we 
have  seen,  always  wise  in  their  definition  of  deification, 
— and  indeed  who  can  be  wise  in  dealing  with  such 
matters  ?  Not  a  little  of  the  criticism  which  the  Friends 
of  God  brought  upon  themselves  was  due  to  their  loose 
or  daring  definitions  of  the  union  of  the  human  and  the 
divine.  There  is  a  restrained  sanity  in  the  "  Theologia  " 
which  is  wanting  in  much  other  mystical  literature  of  the 
time.  He  is  a  partaker  of  the  divine  nature,  or  a  God- 
like man  *'  who  is  imbued  with  or  illuminated  by  the 
Eternal  or  divine  Light,  and  inflamed  or  consumed  with 
Eternal  or  divine  love,  he  is  a  Godlike  man  and  a  partaker 
of  the  divine  nature ;  and  of  the  nature  of  this  True  Light 
we  have  said  somewhat  already."  '^  All  this  is  sane  enough, 
though  indeed  in  any  such  connection  words  fail  us. 
>  Chapter  XXII.  '  Chapter  XLI. 


1 84      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

The  "  Theologia  "  solidifies  the  whole  discussion  by  di- 
rectly relating  this  mystical  knowledge  to  great  ethical 
qualities.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  a  man  to  walk  in  any 
such  light  as  this  if  he  does  not  walk  in  love, — nay  more 
than  that,  if  he  does  not  walk  in  love  of  virtue  so  as  to 
hate  wickedness  and  neither  do  nor  practice  it  nor  leave 
any  virtue  unpracticed,  and  do  all  this  simply  for  the  love 
of  virtue.  Moreover,  no  man  walks  in  the  true  light  if 
he  does  not  so  love  justice  as  to  rather  die  than  do  an  un- 
just thing,  all  this  for  nothing  except  the  love  of  justice.^ 
Truly,  if  our  heads  are  here  somewhat  among  the  clouds, 
our  feet  are  always  on  the  ground. 

A  second  thing  to  which  men  will  attain  who  follow 
that  way  is  a  great  God  sufficiency,  an  inner  free- 
dom, a  release  from  laws,  forms,  and  time-born  conven- 
tions. Not  indeed  that  men  are  set  free  to  do  as  they 
will,  but  only  that  they  have  attained  the  immediate  vi- 
sion of  what  they  ought  to  do  and  will  immediately  to  do 
it.  This  is  what  Saul  of  Tarsus  was  claiming  for  the  Gala- 
tians ;  this  is  that  liberty  in  Christ  which  is  the  birthright 
of  all  His  disciples ;  this  is  that  whereunto  Dante  had  at- 
tained when,  upon  the  thresholds  of  the  earthly  paradise, 
Virgil  dismisses  him. 

**  Await  no  more  a  word  or  sign  from  me ; 
Free,  sane,  and  upright,  now  thy  will  hath  grown, 
And  not  to  follow  it  were  sin  in  thee ; 
Wherefore  I  set  on  thee  mitre  and  crown." 

This,  in  a  lesser  or  greater  degree,  is  the  consumma- 
tion of  all  discipline,  the  end  of  all  noble  endeavour.     In 
the  light  of  such  a  vision  all  lesser  distinctions  disappear, 
the  walls  between  the  temporal  and  the  Eternal  are  over- 
»  Chapter  XLI. 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANICA  185 

passed,  and  this  world  becomes  an  outer  court  of  eternity. 
This  present  time  is  then  a  paradise,  a  paradise  regained, 
but  like  to  the  paradise  which  we  lost  in  this  one  thing : 
it  has  also  its  tree  of  forbidden  fruit.  We  are  free  in  all 
things  but  this  :  "  Nothing  is  forbidden  and  nothing  is 
contrary  to  God  but  one  thing  only  :  that  is,  Self-will,  or 
to  will  otherwise  than  as  the  Eternal  Will  would  have  it."  * 
The  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  is  wanting  in  all  those  at- 
tempts to  portray  the  ineffable  and  declare  the  raptures 
of  the  beatific  vision  which  make  considerable  parts  of 
the  literature  of  Mysticism  hard  reading  for  common  folk, 
but  rather  constantly  defines  even  the  rarest  experiences 
of  the  soul  in  such  terms  of  obedience,  unselfishness  and 
goodness  as  to  make  the  way  quite  plain.  It  was  this 
quality  which  commended  the  book  to  the  practical  sense 
of  Martin  Luther  and  has  made  it  the  plain  man's  classic. 
We  have  now,  finally,  to  consider  the  relation  of  all 
this  to  the  Protestant  Reformation.  Martin  Luther  was 
more  strongly  moved  by  this  little  book  than  by  any 
other  except  the  Bible,  and  without  any  doubt  his  words 
were  so  immediately  fruitful  because  they  fell  on  a  soil 
which  had  already  been  prepared  by  just  such  a  discipline 
as  this.  It  would  be  utterly  unfair  to  call  great  mediaeval 
mystics  and  the  mystics  of  a  later  time  the  pioneers  of 
Protestantism ;  there  is  much  in  Protestantism  to  which 
they  would  be  wholly  indifferent  if  they  were  reincar- 
nated, just  as  there  was,  in  their  own  time,  much  in 
Catholicism  which  was  wholly  alien  to  the  real  move- 
ment of  their  lives.  Many  of  them  were  true  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  Church ;  they  would  have  shared  her 
own  horror  at  the  movement  which  left  her  so  bereft ; 
but  none  the  less  the  genesis  of  Protestantism  is  to  be 
>  Chapter  L. 


1 86      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

sought  in  Mysticism.  We  have  seen  that  here  is  only  a 
name  for  a  quest  as  old  as  the  soul,  as  endless  as  restless 
weariness,  whose  outcome  is  the  establishment  of  life  upon 
higher  levels  and  in  immediate  relation  to  ultimate  reali- 
ties. Once  these  immediate  relations  are  gained,  the  ex- 
periences of  the  soul  itself  are  the  sure  witness  of  the 
reality  of  that  in  which  peace  has  been  found.  Other 
testimonies  are  idle  and  forms  and  sacraments  as  unnec- 
essary as  were  the  stagings  which  supported  the  vast  arches 
of  those  very  cathedrals  into  which  the  mystic  builded 
something  of  the  inextinguishable  longing  of  his  soul, 
when  at  last  the  keystone  had  been  put  in  place  and  the 
arch  fell  into  architectonic  soHdity,  made  stronger  by 
the  very  burden  which  it  had  to  bear. 

There  was  much  then  in  Mysticism  which  made  all 
true  mystics  independent  of  any  church  and,  even  before 
the  Reformation,  largely  independent  of  the  rigidities  of 
mediaeval  Catholicism.  Men  who  had  come  to  find  their 
own  way  to  God  over  roads  already  beginning  to  be 
worn  deep  by  the  spiritual  ascent  of  aspiring  souls  had  no 
need  for  a  great  part  of  that  which  the  Church  offered 
and  very  little  real  concern  about  it.  For  indeed  a 
great  part  of  the  mediaeval  church  order  was  really  the 
survival  of  forms  which  had  been  gradually  shaped  to 
meet  the  demands  of  ages  in  which  untutored  races 
needed  most  intimate  and  explicit  guidance.  By  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  the  better  spiritual  part 
of  Europe  had  utterly  outgrown  all  this,  but  the  forms 
themselves  remained  unchanged,  or  if  anything  height- 
ened in  their  rigidities.  Those  habits  of  the  mystic, 
therefore,  which  rendered  him  and  his  kind  so  largely  in- 
dependent of  the  offices  of  the  Church  were  really  prepar- 
ing the  way  for  a  more  formal  and  self-assertive  inde^ 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANIC  A  187 

pendence  which  was  to  find  its  full  and  stormy  expression 
in  the  Reformation.  Mysticism  in  its  best  estate  was  a 
kind  of  witness  that  just  what  the  Church  was  really 
meant  to  do  had  been  accomplished,  for  no  church  nor 
any  holy  book  can  in  tlie  end  do  more  for  the  soul  than 
just  this  :  bring  it  to  God  and  recreate  those  relationships 
of  which  the  book  is  but  the  record,  the  church  the  testi- 
mony. 

This  however  was  not  all.  Just  as  there  was  much  in 
the  Church  of  that  time  which  was  sterile,  there  was  a 
vast  deal  which  positively  offended  those  who  were  being 
taught  to  love  virtue  for  its  own  sake  and  so  to  hate  in- 
justice as  to  be  incapable  of  doing  an  unjust  action. 
These  and  their  kind  everywhere  were  feeling  the 
anomaly  of  the  Church's  position,  they  were  shamed  by 
her  captivities,  they  were  wounded  by  her  grievous 
faults.  By  so  much  the  more,  then,  as  they  took  to 
their  own  roads  her  absolutions  brought  them  no  peace ; 
they  had  found  the  secret  of  deeper  peace.  Her  ex- 
communications did  not  affright  them  ;  there  was  that 
from  which  she  was  wholly  unable  to  bar  them  out. 
More  than  almost  any  institution  which  has  ever  lifted 
its  vast  bulk  above  the  fields  of  time,  the  Latin  Catholic 
Church  was  and  is  dependent  upon  certain  attitudes ; 
when  those  attitudes  arc  changed  the  fabric  of  her  au- 
thority dissolves  like  a  mist,  and  her  voices,  whether  of 
entreaty  or  command,  are  impotent  and  hollow.  The 
very  temper  of  which  Mysticism  is  the  expression  had 
been  dissolving  the  deep  bases  upon  which  the  solidities 
of  the  Catholic  administration  depended,  and  when  at 
last  the  trumpet  called  across  Northern  Europe  there  was 
such  a  sudden  realignment  of  spiritual  forces  as  to  sur- 
prise us  if  we  had  not  studied  the  extension  of  leavening 


1 88      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

and  transforming  forces  long  at  work  ;  a  realignment  in- 
deed so  sudden  as  to  have  constituted  the  very  embar- 
rassment of  the  Reformation.  The  leaders  of  that  Ref- 
ormation were  given  a  spiritual  world  to  remake  before 
they  had  really  conceived  the  fashion  in  which  it  was  to  be 
reshaped.  They  were  asked  to  order  a  new  empire  of 
the  spirit  before  they  had  agreed  among  themselves  as  to 
the  forms  which  they  were  to  follow,  or  even  the  stand- 
ards which  they  would  set  up.  Not  a  little  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  Reformation  is  to  be  sought  just  here. 

Deeper  than  these  predisposing  causes,  so  largely 
operative  in  Europe  by  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
was  that  quenchless  call  which  is  the  condition  precedent 
of  every  sort  of  gain  in  every  region  of  life  and  with 
which  the  Catholic  Church  was  dealing  always  so  inade- 
quately, sometimes  so  bitterly  : — the  call,  that  is,  of  spiri- 
tual adventure.  I  use  this  word  in  a  large  sense,  but  so 
employed  there  is  no  substitute  for  it.  The  soul  was 
never  meant  to  dwell  in  securities  ;  her  incessant  yearn- 
ings, her  divine  discontents  were  given  her  for  constant 
witness  that  we  have  here  no  abiding  place.  It  is  not 
fair  to  say  that  the  Catholic  Church  did  not  recognize  this 
and  afford  some  room  for  the  exercise  of  it,  but  her  au- 
thorities and  rigidities  were  sadly  cramping  the  freer  play 
of  the  spiritual  forces  of  Europe.  In  an  age  when  geo- 
graphical discoveries  were  giving  men  a  new  earth  and 
astronomical  investigations  a  new  heaven,  the  soul  also 
must  needs  fare  forth,  and  that  not  only  in  such  quiet 
pilgrimages  of  the  spirit  as  were  permitted  to  the  Friends 
of  God,  but  in  a  larger,  broader,  more  objective  way. 
The  time  was  waiting  only  upon  a  man  who  would  himself 
set  forth  like  Abraham,  not  knowing  whither  he  should 
go  and  who,  at  the  same  time,  would  so  adequately  voice 


THEOLOGIA  GERMANIC  A  189 

the  wide-spread  restlessness  of  his  time  as  to  make  clear 
to  men  everywhere  the  deeper  meaning  of  what  they 
themselves  sought.  If  such  a  man  were  to  inaugurate 
any  far-reaching  movement,  it  would  be  necessary  also 
that  he  should  be  sheltered  for  a  little  from  those  driving 
attacks  as  had  already  silenced  such  men  as  Huss  and 
Savonarola. 

Martin  Luther  was  all  this  and  in  Martin  Luther  a 
new  spiritual  movement  took  its  departure.  He  has 
told  us  himself  how  he  was  helped  and  kindled  by  the 
"  Theologia  Germanica."  We  are  in  a  position  now  to 
see  the  deeper  significance  of  the  contribution  of  Mys- 
ticism to  Protestantism,  for  the  mystics  were,  when  all  is 
said  and  done — though  this  is  sheer  repetition — lonely 
adventurers  in  the  regions  of  faith.  They  did  not,  indeed, 
think  themselves  to  be  without  guides  or  to  follow  an 
uncharted  way,  but  even  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
guides  whom  they  followed  they  fell  back  upon  the  stress 
of  their  own  souls,  and  every  one  of  them,  even  though  he 
thought  himself  to  follow  a  path  worn  deep  by  the  feet 
of  the  aspiring,  was,  nevertheless,  his  own  road-builder, 
with  an  eye  for  the  Unseen  and  Eternal,  careless  of  ex- 
ternal authorities,  depending  upon  the  witness  of  the 
Spirit.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  Mysticism  deepened  and 
fertilized  the  soil  in  which  the  churches  of  the  Reforma- 
tion were  to  be  planted  ?  For  Protestantism  itself,  as  we 
are  coming  at  last  to  see,  is  essentially  of  just  this  temper. 
Protestantism  has  not  been  without  its  guides,  its  author- 
ities, its  definitions,  its  institutions,  but  at  best  there 
has  always  been  some  fundamental  lack  of  harmony  be- 
tween the  spirit  which  we  have  miscalled  Protestantism 
and  the  institutions  with  which  it  has  always  been  cloth- 
ing itself.     I  suppose  this   is   the  reason  of  our  endless 


I90      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

division  and  subdivision.  We  are  always  trying  to  find 
a  more  perfect  outward  expression  of  that  which  was 
really  never  meant  to  perfectly  express  itself  in  institu- 
tions. Protestantism  is  a  quest.  We  should  know  that  by 
now.  Its  most  distinctive  book  is  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  ; 
its  greatest  theologian  St.  Paul ;  its  greatest  doctrine — 
justification  by  faith — is  simply  its  proclamation  of  its 
divine  right  to  an  immediate  intimacy  with  God.  The 
consciousness  of  peace  and  reconciliation  of  which  in  its 
nobler  moments  it  has  always  proclaimed  itself  sure  is 
but  another  aspect  of  the  mystic's  testimony  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  God  in  which  his  soul  is  at  rest.  Surely  the 
sense  of  all  this  should  help  us  to  understand  more 
clearly  the  deeper  meaning  of  all  that  has  come  out  of 
the  Reformation,  should  set  us  to  search  with  more  dis- 
criminating vision  the  real  hiding  of  the  spiritual  power 
of  all  the  churches  of  this  order,  and  should  give  us  a 
new  sense  of  comradeship  with  the  lonely  and  aspiring 
who  sought,  in  the  travail  of  their  souls  and  along 
the  stages  of  a  road  whose  way-marks  are  not  indeed 
named  as  we  would  name  them — though  it  leads  to  a 
country  which  we  are  all  seeking — the  peace  of  God 
which  passeth  understanding. 


Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress 

No  one  of  the  books  which  we  are  here  consid- 
ering is  so  familiar  to  us  all  as  Bunyan's 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress."  It  is  part  of  the  spir- 
itual inheritance  of  the  men  and  women  whom  these 
studies  are  most  likely  to  reach,  is  instinct  with  their 
very  racial  temper  and  the  qualities  of  a  faith  wrought 
into  their  ancestral  memories.  It  does,  indeed,  speak  a 
universal  language ;  its  endless  translations  into  all 
tongues,  its  use  with  considerable  adaptations  by  Cath- 
olics and  high  Anglicans  bear  a  compelling  testimony  to 
its  power  of  addressing  itself  to  universal  human  experi- 
ences and  to  its  true  catholicity.  None  the  less  the  book 
is  English,  Protestant,  Puritan.  By  such  forces  it  was 
gendered  and  to  such  forces  it  has  given  in  return  deep- 
ened consciousness  and  distinctive  character.  Though 
it  belongs,  by  way  of  descent,  to  the  direct  line  of  the 
*•  Theologia  Germanica " — it  is  yet  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  "  Theologia  "  by  outstanding  qualities — and  is 
separated  by  the  most  far-reaching  of  spiritual  revolu- 
tions— the  Protestant  Reformation.  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress "  is  the  child  of  the  Reformation  and  indeed,  for 
its  catholicity  and  universal  appeal,  of  certain  aspects  of 
the  Reformation.  In  the  light  of  this,  it  may  be  said  in 
passing,  those  who  judge  the  Reformation  so  hastily  and 
too  often  so  superficially,  who  call  it  divisive,  schismatic 

191 


192      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

and  sadly  wanting  in  inclusive  spiritual  appeal,  had  better 
pause,  for  it  is  not  out  of  the  essentially  narrow  and 
schismatic  that  such  a  voice  as  Bunyan's  speaks.  The 
far-reaching  experiences,  profound  assurances,  aspirations 
and  enterprises  old  as  time,  which  have  found  a  voice  in 
*♦  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  do  witness  that  the  movement 
which  begot  it  is  not  in  its  essentials  to  be  condemned 
on  the  ground  of  spiritual  provincialism.  All  this  is  an 
aside  and  an  anticipation,  but  let  it  stand. 

We  may  well  take  for  our  point  of  departure  in  con- 
sidering the  genesis  of  the  book  its  most  evident  char- 
acteristic and  let  that  lead  us  where  it  will.  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  is  nothing  other  than  the  history  of  the  lonely 
adventures  of  a  soul  which  has  assumed  the  responsibil- 
ities of  its  own  salvation.  In  this  it  is  distinctly  the 
child  of  the  Reformation,  for  the  dismissal  of  men  to 
just  such  an  adventure  was  the  greatest  single  outcome 
of  the  Reformation.  Such  a  statement  as  this  will  be 
challenged,  and  indeed  rightly  challenged,  directly.  The 
whole  reformatory  movement,  it  will  be  urged,  was  the 
fruitful  endeavour  of  men,  hopelessly  weighed  down  by 
the  burden  of  good  works,  obediences,  weary  conform- 
ities and  endless  strivings  to  cast  all  their  burden  upon 
the  Lord  and  to  find  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  a  peace 
utterly  unrelated  to  anything  which  they  might  do  or 
leave  undone :  the  gift  of  God  through  His  Son,  condi- 
tioned only  upon  the  willingness  of  those  to  whom  it 
was  offered  to  accept  it,  and  so  to  be  justified  by  their 
faith.  The  book  itself  disclaims  the  saving  value  of  all 
good  works  and  witnesses  to  the  very  stars  the  futile 
helplessness  of  men  apart  from  God.  All  this  is  beyond 
debate,  but  does  not  turn  the  point  of  our  central  conten- 
tion.    Salvation  did  become,  after  the  Reformation,  a 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        193 

lonely  adventure ;  lonely,  that  is,  as  far  as  human  inter- 
ference or  mediation  is  concerned.  It  was  a  matter 
simply  between  the  new-born  Protestant  and  his  God. 
There  were  no  earthly  assurances  which  could  bring  him 
any  peace  or  comfort ;  his  search  after  salvation  began 
in  loneliness,  was  carried  on  in  loneliness,  was  completed 
in  loneliness.  So  Christian  follows  a  lonely  way.  He 
is  not  without  his  roll  in  his  bosom  or  the  comradeships, 
illuminating  or  perplexed,  of  the  roads  which  he  travelled. 
There  were  with  him  those  who  shared  the  chambers 
of  the  house  of  the  Interpreter,  the  prisoners'  benches 
of  the  courts  of  Vanity  Fair,  the  dungeons  of  the  castle 
of  Giant  Despair,  the  blessed  ways  of  Beulah  Land,  stood 
with  him  upon  the  slopes  of  the  Delectable  Mountain 
and  forded  with  him  the  river  of  the  Waters  of  Death. 
There  were,  beyond  all  this,  compelling  voices  and 
presences,  gifts  and  assurances  of  the  spirit  of  God,  in 
the  strength  and  comfort  of  which  he  fought  and 
journeyed,  slept  and  woke  again,  but  who  does  not  feel 
the  deeper  loneliness  of  it  all  reads  the  book  unwittingly. 
It  is  an  inevitable  kind  of  lonehness,  the  loneliness  of  life, 
the  loneliness  of  those  who  are  thrown  back  upon  God ; 
a  loneliness  which  men  are  always  seeking  to  escape  for 
the  sheer  burden  of  it,  but  to  which,  in  the  end,  they  are 
brought  back  by  nothing  less  than  the  unescapable  con- 
ditions of  hfe  itself. 

Something  of  all  this  we  find  in  Augustine,  to  begin 
with,  in  the  deeper  part  of  the  "  Confessions,"  and  indeed 
in  the  deeper  part  of  the  Augustinian  theology.  Salva- 
tion with  Augustine  is  a  matter  wholly  between  him  and 
his  God,  and  in  what  unshared  and  unsharable  agonies 
of  soul  all  this  worked  itself  out  every  page  of  the  •♦  Con- 
fessions "  bears  witness.     But  there  is  this   difference  be- 


194      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

tween  the  unshared  experiences  of  St.  Augustine  and  the 
unshared  experiences  of  John  Bunyan  :  namely,  the  dis- 
ciphne  of  the  Latin  CathoHc  Church  and  the  immense  re- 
action of  the  fifteenth  century  against  it.  For  we  may 
find  in  St.  Augustine  himself  another  spiritual  habit 
which  grew  apace  for  a  thousand  years  and  for  half  a 
thousand  years  completely  overshadowed  the  thought  of 
salvation  as  the  lonely  adventure  of  the  individual,  deal- 
ing directly  with  his  God.  The  enterprises  to  which  the 
Augustine  of  the  "  Confessions  "  would  have  committed 
men  were  too  great  for  their  failing  strength.  The  very 
necessities  of  the  succeeding  centuries  created  a  Church 
which  met  the  doubts  of  the  spiritually  undisciplined 
with  her  affirmations,  their  hesitations  with  her  assur- 
ances, their  fears  with  her  confidences.  That  Church 
gradually  relieved  men  of  all  their  spiritual  responsibili- 
ties and  built  about  them  sheltering  walls  which  did  in 
the  end  but  foster  their  weaknesses.  She  hung  the  veil 
of  her  own  mysteries  before  eyes  not  strong  enough  to 
bear  the  healing  light  of  vaster  mysteries  and  modulated 
her  own  voices  to  ears  which  could  not  or  would  not  hear 
the  unmediated  voice  of  God.  To  shelter  men  in  the 
storm  and  guide  them  in  their  perplexities  she  exalted 
her  own  authority  and  framed  her  own  ordinances.  In 
the  end  there  was  nothing  for  men  to  do  but  to  rest  in 
her  arms.  Hers  the  arms  which  received  the  new-born 
babe,  guided  the  growing  child,  confirmed  those  whom 
she  instructed.  Hers  the  ears  which  heard  the  stammer- 
ing confessions,  hers  the  lips  which  pronounced  the  com- 
forting absolutions,  hers  the  counsel  which  guided  and 
directed  men  in  the  last  detail  of  their  conduct  of  life. 
Hers  the  touch  which  placed  the  oil  of  supreme  unction 
upon  foreheads  where  the  death  dews  gathered  and  hers 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS         195 

the  majestic  and  indisputable  power  which  held  the  keys 
of  the  celestial  city,  shortened  the  pain  of  purgatorial 
fires  and  professed  to  keep  the  books  of  the  judgment  of 
God.  She  asked  obedience  and  offered  peace,  security, 
forgiveness  and  eternal  life.  There  has  never  been  any- 
thing like  this,  as  far  as  it  now  endures  there  is  nothing 
hke  it,  there  will  never  be  anything  like  it  again.  No 
single  word  can  dismiss  so  vast  a  spiritual  fact,  no  un- 
qualified judgment  is  to  be  pronounced  upon  a  system  so 
conceived  and  developed.  George  Eliot  has  said  that 
the  Latin  Catholic  Church  is  the  massive  and  ardent 
spiritual  experience  of  humanity,  and  while  that  wants 
much  of  being  entirely  true,  it  is  a  judgment  which  must 
give  us  pause  as  we  strive  to  estimate  the  meaning  of  it 
all. 

It  was  inevitable  enough  that  such  a  system  should 
take  form  ;  it  was  clearly  inevitable,  with  changing  con- 
ditions, that  it  should  in  the  end  defeat  the  very  purposes 
which  it  was  meant  to  serve.  The  one  secret  which  men 
have  been  unbelievably  slow  in  learning  is  when  and  how 
to  discharge  the  institutions  which  they  themselves  have 
created.  Life  is  fluid;  institutions  are  rigid;  the  time 
always  comes  when  new  wine  demands  new  bottles. 
This  is  eminently  true  in  matters  of  the  soul.  We  were 
never  meant  to  be  kept  in  an  endless  spiritual  minority. 
There  are  shelters  which  weaken  us,  assurances  which 
blind  our  vision.  God  has  no  mind  to  be  hid  forever 
behind  the  veil  of  any  temple.  One  such  veil  was  rent 
in  the  travail  of  the  spirit  of  the  Son  of  God ;  such  veils 
are  always  rent  anew  in  the  travail  of  the  spirit  of  the 
sons  of  God.  No  kindness  however  exalted  into  majestic 
authorities  may  forever  hold  men  back  from  the  supreme 
spiritual  adventure  of  life.     In   the  end  such  kindnesses 


196      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

are  mistaken  and  their  mistake  becomes  tyranny.  Better 
the  challenge  of  unvoyaged  waters  and  strange  horizons 
than  always  to  beat  behind  breakwaters  from  sheltered 
shore  to  sheltered  shore.  Life  is  more  than  safety  and 
salvation  something  more  than  peace.  Surely  the  Master 
meant  something  like  this  when  He  said  that  we  are  to 
lose  our  lives  if  we  hope  to  save  them. 

There  came  a  time,  then,  when  the  salvation  of  ecclesi- 
astical authority  meant  the  real  loss  of  the  life  which  that 
authority  had  aforetimes  been  exalted  to  save.  The  men 
of  Northern  Europe  could  not  and  would  not  longer  en- 
dure it.  They  broke  down  the  walls  which  held  them  in, 
passed  in  storm  and  tumult  through  the  dust  of  their 
overthrowing  and  for  their  true  salvation  took  to  the 
lonely  road.  This  I  understand  to  be  the  very  heart  of 
the  Reformation.  It  was  the  recommitment  of  humanity 
to  its  central  essential  task  :  the  winning  of  life  in  the 
profound  persuasion  that  life  can  only  be  won  as  it  is 
risked,  and  that  there  are  no  victories  save  on  fields  of 
battle.  All  this  carried  with  it  the  possibility  of  immense 
loss,  but  every  brave,  true  thing  carries  with  it  the  possi- 
bility of  loss  ;  the  elimination  of  risk  is  ultimately  the 
eHmination  of  life.  Biologically,  intellectually,  spiri- 
tually, the  undue  prolongation  of  shelter  causes  degenera- 
tion and  degeneration  marches  with  death. 

So  the  Reformation  came.  With  what  restlessnesses, 
disorders,  overturnings  and  lesser  losses  it  came  is  the 
commonplace  of  history,  but  with  v/hat  braveries,  splen- 
dours of  achievement,  spiritual  emancipations,  stormy 
dawnings  of  new  mornings,  unfoldings  of  new  powers, 
sowing  of  new  fields  with  the  seeds  of  life  it  came,  is  no 
commonplace  at  all,  but  the  signal  glory  of  our  kind. 
Here,  then,  is  the  new  aspect  of  the  quest  which  "  Pil- 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        197 

grim's  Progress  "  supplies.  It  has  for  its  backgrounds 
the  long  endeavour  of  Western  Europe  to  avoid  the  more 
lonely  and  searching  aspects  of  the  quest,  by  the  creation 
of  an  institution  which  would  at  once  relieve  men  of  their 
responsibilities  and  shelter  them  from  the  dangers  of  the 
pilgrim  way,  and  the  reaction  of  the  northern  races  gen- 
erally against  such  mediation.  Life  is  after  all  an  ascend- 
ing spiral;  we  are  never  returning  to  the  same  point  of 
departure,  but  we  are  again  and  again  returning  to  analo- 
gous points  of  departure.  Situations  constantly  repeat 
themselves,  though  always  upon  different  fields  and,  please 
God,  upon  higher  levels.  The  Reformation  was  the  recur- 
rence of  a  situation  which  men  had  faced  more  than  once 
before  and  which  in  all  likelihood  our  sons  and  our  sons' 
sons  will  in  their  own  turn  be  called  upon  to  face.  When 
havens  of  shelter  become  prisons  and  walls  of  defense  be- 
come walls  of  hindrance ;  when  that  which  was  meant  to 
nurture  us  will  not  dismiss  us  to  the  tasks  of  manhood 
and  what  was  meant  to  launch  us  will  not  let  us  seek  the 
open  sea,  then,  once  more,  at  whatever  cost  and  for  the 
sake  of  life  itself  the  brave  and  more  daring  will  break 
down  the  barriers  which  hold  them  back,  relate  them- 
selves anew  to  God  and  truth  and  duty  and  take  to  the 
open. 

So  much  then  for  the  larger  historical  movements 
which  issued  in  John  Bunyan  and  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 
We  cannot,  however,  dismiss  the  genesis  of  the  book 
without  some  further  consideration  of  what  has  shaped 
and  coloured  it.  It  is  not  only  Protestant,  it  is  Pauline, 
Calvinistic,  Anabaptist.  It  was  by  no  accident  but  under 
the  compulsions  of  necessity  that  the  Reformation  re- 
established its  doctrinal  bases  in  the  teachings  of  St.  Paul, 
for  we  have  seen  already  in  these  studies  how  St.  Paul 


198      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

committed  Christianity  itself  to  a  course  of  spiritual  ad- 
venture which  the  rigidities  of  Judaism  would  have  made 
impossible.  His  doctrine  of  the  justification  of  faith  was 
at  once  an  emancipation  proclamation,  freeing  men  from 
sterile  loyalties,  fruitless  obediences,  and  hopeless  disciple- 
ships,  and  an  empowerment,  putting  them  in  such  hving 
touch  with  the  quickening  spirit  of  God  that  in  relation- 
ships so  established  the  impossible  became  the  possible,  a 
new  peace  was  attained  and  a  new  fruitfulness  began  to 
come  into  life.  No  wonder  that  Martin  Luther  facing 
the  same  problem  as  Saul  of  Tarsus  turned  back  to  Gala- 
tians  and  Romans,  felt  rather  than  reasoned  his  way 
through  St.  Paul's  soul-stirring  message  and  so  heart- 
ened, not  only  himself  passed  from  the  shelter  of  hierarch- 
ies and  the  absolutions  of  priests  to  the  shelter  of  his 
Father  God  and  the  absolutions  of  His  sacrificial  love, 
but  made  possible  a  like  experience  for  the  whole  of 
Northern  Europe. 

St.  Paul  then  fathered  "  Pilgrim's  Progress "  as  he 
fathered  so  much  else  in  the  freer  movement  of  the 
Christian  faith.  But  the  book  has  in  it  not  only  the 
vision  of  the  greatest,  although  the  last  born,  of  the 
apostles ;  it  has  wrought  into  the  stuff  of  it  the  iron  of 
Calvinism,  for  John  Calvin  rendered  the  Reformation 
two  services.  He  created,  to  begin  with,  by  sheer  genius 
of  ecclesiastical  statesmanship  a  closely  federated  church, 
not  at  all  the  modification  of  the  old,  or  even  as  he  sup- 
posed the  reproduction  of  the  Apostolic  Church,  but  an 
wholly  new  creation  so  wrought  into  spiritual  solidity  as 
to  have  stood  the  shock  of  persecution,  the  testing  of 
battle  and  the  trying  of  time.  He  supplied,  moreover, 
to  the  whole  movement — though  not  in  the  same  measure 
to  all  its  parts — a  fundamental  and  transforming  convic- 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        199 

tion  without  which  the  whole  history  of  the  Reformation 
would  have  to  be  rewritten,  and  in  all  likelihood  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  would  never  have  been  written  at  all :  an  affir- 
mation of  the  sovereignty  of  God,  that  is,  which  has  too 
often  been  so  interpreted  as  to  obscure  the  divine  love, 
misrepresent  the  divine  justice  and  defeat  the  very  ends 
which  it  sought  to  establish,  but  which,  in  its  best  estate, 
set  the  august  and  stainless  tribunals  of  the  Eternal  over 
against  the  rocking  seat  of  the  successors  of  the  Fishermen, 
freed  men  from  all  lesser  allegiances  that  they  might  be 
God's  men  and  from  all  lesser  sovereignties  that  He  might 
be  their  supreme  King.  In  the  face  of  such  a  sovereignty 
the  thrones  of  time  shrank  to  pitiful  proportions,  repub- 
lics and  democracies  were  born,  the  subjects  of  God  be- 
came the  masters  of  their  own  estate.  The  conscious- 
ness of  such  a  God  ranged  the  spiritual  forebears  of  John 
Bunyan  on  battle-fields  where  the  sense  of  divine  decrees 
made  them  unconquerable.  For  there  has  always  been 
this  paradox  in  Calvinism  :  the  conviction  of  a  vast  and 
inflexible  will  which  ought  logically  to  have  made  men 
supine  has  made  them  unspeakably  resolute,  the  belief  in 
all  life  as  simply  the  expression  of  a  foreordaining  purpose 
which  ought  logically  to  have  weakened  the  springs  of 
resolution  and  devotion  has  instead  tempered  them  as  by 
fire.  Surely  our  eyes  are  blinded  if  we  cannot  see,  in 
the  spiritual  passion  which  John  Calvin  and  his  followers 
spread  abroad  in  Holland,  England  and  Scotland,  the  true 
source  of  a  noble  freedom,  and  in  the  temper  which  the 
followers  of  William  the  Silent,  John  Knox  and  Oliver 
Cromwell  drew  from  his  doctrines  the  secret  at  once  of 
their  impregnable  determination  in  the  face  of  all  the 
forces  which  the  ancient  order  could  marshall,  and  their 
flame-like  attack  upon  its  very  strongholds. 


200      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Geneva  under  John  Calvin  v^as  "  The  school  of  the 
martyrs."  "  City  of  wonder  where  all  was  flame  and 
prayer,  study,  labour,  austerity.  What  was  the  unspeak- 
able joy  of  those  who,  having  succeeded  in  fleeing 
the  lands  of  idolatry,  reached  at  last  this  blessed  city  of 
desire.  With  what  grateful  vision  all  those  fugitives, 
having  by  unbelievably  good  fortune  gained  the  Lyons 
road  and  followed  the  austere  valley  of  the  Rhone,  saw 
at  last  the  towers  of  hope  and  salvation.  Many  of  the 
great  left  all,  risked  all,  to  reach  Geneva.  Poyet,  Robert 
Estienne,  the  widow  and  children  of  Bude  sought  there 
a  new  fatherland.  More  than  one  confessor  of  the  faith 
there  brought  his  scars.  The  fearless  and  unconquer- 
able Knox,  after  eight  years  passed  in  the  galleys,  his 
arms  furrowed  by  chains,  his  back  marked  by  the  scourge, 
came  to  seat  himself  for  a  day  at  the  foot  of  the  chair  of 
Calvin.  To  this  presence  all  came  and  from  that  pres- 
ence all  departed."  *  "  In  those  narrow  streets,  in  that 
sombre  garden  of  God,  there  bloomed  beneath  the  hand 
of  Calvin  and  for  the  safeguarding  of  the  freedoms  of  the 
soul,  such  blood  red  roses  of  devotion.  If  there  was 
needed  anywhere  in  Europe,  either  blood  or  torture,  a 
man  to  burn  at  the  stake  or  break  upon  the  wheel,  that 
man  was  in  Geneva,  eager  and  ready  to  set  out,  praising 
God  and  singing  His  psalms."  ^ 

We  must  search  still  further  for  the  historical  genesis 
of  *•  Pilgrim's  Progress."  St.  Paul  supplied  its  doctrinal 
atmospheres,  John  Calvin  the  spirit,  steel  tempered, 
which  gave  power  of  resistance  and  attack  to  the  spiritual 
forces  which  underrun  it,  but  apart  from  all  this,  though 
not  indeed  unrelated  to  the  interwrought  and  dominat- 

*  "  Histoire  de  France,"  J.  Michelet,  Vol.  II,  p.  99. 

2  Ibid.,  Vol.  10,  p.  429. 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        201 

ing  system  of  Calvin,  was  an  obscure  movement,  not  yet 
clearly  understood  and  awaiting  still  its  English-speak- 
ing historian,  half  social,  half  religious,  always  demo- 
cratic, largely  formless,  often  capricious,  and  in  one  in- 
stance at  least  strangely  lawless,  called  by  a  misrepre- 
sentative  name,  yet  having  a  significance  which  vi^e  must 
not  overlook,  and  unexpectedly  related  to  much  u'hich  is 
most  significant  in  our  modern  religious  life — I  mean  the 
Anabaptist  movement. 

We  are  coming  to  see,  thanks  to  the  painstaking  work 
of  a  good  many  men  of  insight  and  scholarship,  the 
significance  and,  indeed,  the  relationship  of  all  those  ob- 
scure but  tremendously  vital  movements  which  just  be- 
fore the  Reformation  underran  the  institutional  life  and 
even  the  doctrinal  expressions  of  the  Christian  Church. 
The  consideration  of  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  has, 
at  least,  indicated  to  us  the  existence  of  an  inner  re- 
ligious life,  existing  everywhere  in  Northern  Europe, 
half  in  shadow,  half  in  light  and  finding  for  itself  mani- 
fold expressions.  For  the  most  part  the  men  and  women 
in  whose  lives  such  religious  movements  found  expres- 
sion were  obscure,  half  submerged,  almost  wholly  for- 
gotten. The  weight  of  the  social  and  governmental 
maladjustments  of  Europe  weighed  heavily  upon  their 
shoulders  already  deeply  bowed  under  the  burden  of 
endless  and  bitterly  requited  toil.  New  industrial  con- 
ditions were  beginning  vaguely  to  shape  themselves,  but 
they  had  brought  as  yet  only  harder  labour  and  more 
meagre  fare  to  the  peasant  in  the  field  and  the  workman 
in  the  city.  New  alliances  were  in  the  way  of  being 
formed  between  the  burgesses  and  the  king  in  which 
both  undertook  to  make  common  head  against  a  feudal 
nobility  which  had  long  outhved  its  usefulness,  but  this 


202      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

did  not  lighten  the  elemental  wretchedness  of  the  com- 
mon folk.  We  have  only  to  study  the  social  conditions 
in  Germany  before  the  Reformation  in  so  accessible  a 
book  as  Lindsay's  "  History  of  the  Reformation,"  with 
even  the  most  superficial  examination  of  the  literature 
there  quoted,  to  see  what  restless  misery  moved  at  the 
bottom  of  European  society.  We  have  only  to  take 
Michelet's  classic  description  of  the  suppression  of  the 
rebellion  of  the  citizens  of  Ghent  by  Philip  the  Good — one 
of  the  noblest  pieces  of  historical  writing  in  any  language 
— to  see  in  what  fashion  the  ancient  liberties  of  free  cities 
were  being  extinguished  and  hopeless  divisions  being  in- 
troduced even  into  those  cities  themselves.* 

It  is  not  easy  to  analyze  the  ferment  which  stirred  a 
society  beginning  to  take  upon  itself  forms  with  which 
we  are  only  too  familiar.  "  The  gradual  capitalizing  of 
industry  had  been  sapping  the  old  '  gild  '  organization 
within  the  cities ;  the  extension  of  commerce,  and  espe- 
cially the  shifting  of  the  centre  of  external  trade  from 
Venice  to  Antwerp,  in  consequence  of  the  discovery  of 
the  new  route  to  the  Eastern  markets,  and  above  all,  the 
growth  of  the  great  merchant  companies,  whose  world- 
trade  required  enormous  capital,  overshadowed  the 
•gilds*  and  destroyed  their  influence.  The  rise  and 
power  of  this  capitalist  order  severed  the  poor  from  the 
rich,  and  created,  in  a  sense  unknown  before,  a  proletariat 
class  within  the  cities,  which  was  liable  to  be  swollen  by 
the  influx  of  discontented  and  ruined  peasants  from  the 
country  districts."  ^ 

How  far  all  these  stirrings  of  dumb  discontent,  this 

*  Michelet,  "  Histoire  de  France,"  Vol.  7. 

'"A   History  of  the   Reformation — The   Reformation  in  Germany," 

Lindsay,  pp.  88,  89. 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        203 

sullen  and  half  obscure,  though  steadily  rising  passion  for 
social  justice,  were  related  to  the  new  spiritual  passions 
which  just  as  dumbly  and  obscurely  were  stirring  in  so 
many  regions  it  is  not  altogether  easy  to  say,  but  we 
may  at  least  be  sure  that  such  connections  were  not 
wanting.  We  can  see  clearly  enough  now  that  any  far- 
reaching  modification  of  the  immemorial  religious  order, 
even  then  more  nearly  upon  the  point  of  breaking  up 
than  any  one  could  possibly  have  dreamed,  would  re- 
lease this  body  of  social  discontent,  offer  a  new  instru- 
ment for  hopes  and  purposes  half  shaped  or  wholly 
shapeless,  and  precipitate  a  fight  for  social  and  industrial 
freedom  which  has  never  ceased  from  that  day  to  this, 
the  clamour  of  which  is  always,  in  some  quarter  or  other, 
in  our  ears.  The  unhappiness  which  did  not  express 
itself  in  action  sought  other  and  quieter  roads  in  its 
search  for  some  alleviation  of  its  pain.  These  studies 
have  already  sought  to  show  in  the  consideration  of  the 
"  Theologia  Germanica "  how  rare  and  more  gentle 
spirits,  feeling  much  the  burden  and  unhappiness  of  the 
time,  sought  to  escape  it  all  neither  in  revolt  nor  social 
dreams,  but  in  the  quest  after  the  inner  peace  in  the 
hidden  and  quiet  comradeships  of  the  Friends  of  God. 

Now,  in  the  end,  both  these  tempers  fed  into  the  Ana- 
baptist movement.  It  had  its  side  of  the  social  revolt,  its 
dumb  and  sometimes  fierce  passion  for  social  justice,  its 
confused  and  half-blind  aspirations  after  liberty  and  self- 
government.  It  had,  on  the  other  side,  its  aspect  of 
spiritual  loneliness,  the  endeavour  of  the  soul  after  peace, 
the  soul's  commitment  of  all  its  fortunes  to  the  love  of 
God  and  His  saving  grace  as  made  manifest  in  Jesus 
Christ.  The  whole  Anabaptist  movement,  we  are  begin- 
ning to  see  clearly  now,  was  the  first  turning  of  Demos 


204      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

in  his  sleep,  the  premonitory  stirring  of  forces  some  day 
to  shake  the  world,  the  dim  underground,  half  understood, 
but  none  the  less  august  beginnings  of  democracy,  whether 
in  church  or  state.  A  movement  so  vast,  pregnant,  un- 
formed was  morally  sure  to  go  wrong,  to  inadequately 
represent  itself,  to  most  effectually  misrepresent  itself,  to 
emphasize  the  unessential,  to  fall  apart  again  and  again 
like  a  rope  of  sand,  to  be  fruitful  in  bizarre  doctrines  and 
barren  in  united  action,  offer  an  opportunity  for  unworthy 
leaders,  abuse  its  new-found  liberty,  offend  the  historic 
and  ordered  sense  of  Europe,  and  even  to  stain  all  its  be- 
ginnings with  this  or  that  moral  lawlessness  which  would 
offer  an  excuse  for  the  blind  hatred  of  its  foes  and  try  the 
loyalty  of  its  friends.  And  indeed  all  this  and  more  hap- 
pened. The  Anabaptist  was  caught  between  the  upper 
and  nether  millstone;  the  old  under  the  hierarchy,  the 
new  under  the  princes  of  the  Protestant  German  states 
agreed  in  but  one  thing:  their  hatred  of  him.  He  was 
their  common  victim  in  a  thousand  forms  of  cruel  and 
heroic  death,  he  made  expiation  for  himself  and  for  them 
all.  For  a  little  the  earth  smoked  with  the  blood  of  his 
martyrdom,  and  the  courage  with  which  he  met  the  mad 
barbarities  wliich  fenced  him  in  goes  far  towards  redeem- 
ing even  the  saddest  of  his  shortcomings  and  at  best 
gives  him  a  sure  place  in  the  long  and  kindling  recital 
of  the  costly  loyalty  of  men  to  the  compulsions  of  the 
ideal. 

Beneath  the  stress  of  persecution,  in  the  face  of  the 
hostility  of  Europe  Anabaptism  lost  its  earlier  character, 
but  it  did  not  die.  Some  parts  of  it  were  so  shaped 
and  directed  as  to  constitute  the  beginnings  of  the  great 
Baptist  Church ;  its  deeper  impulses,  truly  deathless, 
struggled   on  towards  their  clear  emergence  upon  the 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        205 

field  of  human  action :  that  emergence  we  call  democ- 
racy. Moving  through  still  other  channels  the  Anabap- 
tist temper  fertilized  the  soil  out  of  which  sprang  the 
whole  modern  independent  church  movement.  It  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  somewhere  and  somehow,  though 
the  connection  is  not  wholly  easy  to  follow,  what  was 
most  central  and  essential  in  Anabaptism  launched  the 
Mayflower  and  was  so  carried  across  stormy  seas  to  lodge 
itself  upon  the  shores  of  a  new  world — there,  corrected 
and  broadened,  to  become  the  leaven  of  the  spiritual  and 
political  democracy  of  New  England  and  the  American 
states.  John  Bunyan  and  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  are  the 
spiritual  offspring  of  this  movement. 

'•  There  are  two  well-marked  stages  in  the  development 
of  Anabaptism  in  England.  The  first  stage,  speaking 
roughly,  covers  the  sixteenth  century.  During  this 
period  frequent  refugees  from  Holland  and  Germany 
introduced,  into  different  localities  of  Great  Britain,  the 
doctrines  of  the  continental  Anabaptists,  and  there  was 
simultaneously  a  steady  maturing  of  the  ideas  and  teach- 
ings which  the  scattered  groups  of  Lollards  had  kept 
alive.  The  early  movement  was,  however,  never  allowed 
to  have  free  development,  nor  did  it  achieve  distinct 
national  characteristics  or  produce  a  prophetic  leader 
who  was  able  to  organize  it  into  a  national  movement. 
Throughout  the  entire  century  it  was  regarded  with  dis- 
gust and  horror  by  all  sections  of  the  Church,  and  it  was 
subjected  to  a  persistent  campaign  of  ♦  extermination.' "  * 

"  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  was  not  fathered  by  this  formless 
and  unrecognized  Anabaptism,  although  it  is  as  impossi- 
ble to  separate  this  vaster,  vaguer  movement  from  its 
later  august  developments  as  it  is  to  divide  between  twi- 

1  Rufus  M.  Jones,  "  Studies  in  Mystical  Religions,"  p.  396. 


2o6      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

light  and  dawn.  By  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century 
there  were  Baptist  societies  in  England  which  may 
be  taken  as  the  direct  beginnings  of  the  English  Baptist 
Church.  These  societies  were  not  at  all  reticent  in  their 
confessions  of  faith  and  were,  by  the  tests  of  the  time, 
almost  tragically  fertile  in  heresies.  They  were  not  nice  in 
their  condemnation  of  observances  which  seemed  to  them 
hindrances  to  the  true  exercise  of  their  spirits,  and  they 
included  much  which  was  immaterial  and  not  a  little 
which  was  beautiful  and  serviceful  in  their  straightforward 
denunciations.  They  were  persuaded  for  example :  "  That 
it  is  as  lawful  to  christen  a  child  in  a  tub  of  water  at  home, 
or  in  a  ditch  by  the  way,  as  in  a  font-stone  in  the  church. 
That  it  is  not  necessary  or  profitable  to  have  any  church 
or  chapel  to  pray  in  or  to  do  any  Divine  service  in.  That 
the  singing  or  saying  of  Mass,  matins,  or  even-song  is  but 
a  roaring,  howling,  whistling,  mumming,  and  juggling; 
and  that  playing  at  the  organ  is  a  foolish  vanity."  * 

All  this,  of  course,  did  not  endear  them  to  their  eccle- 
siastical neighbours  and  one  does  not  wonder  that  "  The 
King  was  from  the  first  resolved  to  '  repress  and  utterly 
extinguish  these  persons,*  who,  *  whilst  their  hands  were 
busied  about  their  manufactures,  had  their  heads  also 
beating  about  points  of  divinity  * ;  and  from  the  year 
1538,'  by  the  exercise  of  the  royal  prerogative  in  the  im- 
position of  dogmas  of  faith  on  the  consciences  of  his  sub- 
jects,' he  set  the  machinery  in  operation  to  exterminate 
both  the  Anabaptists  themselves  and  their  books."  *  As 
the  movement  freed  itself  of  its  excesses  and  took  organic 
form  it  made,  in  its  propaganda,  much  use  of  simple  and 
unlettered  preachers.  *'  Tailors,  leather-sellers,  soap- 
boilers, brewers,  weavers,  and  tinkers  "  were  the  apostles 

^  Rufus  M.  Jones,  ••  Studies  in  Mystical  Religions,"  p.  402.  ^  /^/^^ 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        207 

of  the  movement.*  They  were  much  reproached  and 
cried  out  against,  but  those  who  cried  out  against  them 
were  in  the  way  of  forgetting  that  the  first  apostles  were 
very  simple  folk  and  that  Christ  did  not  hesitate  to  com- 
mit the  beginning  of  His  Gospel  to  fishermen  and  tax- 
gatherers.  Those  who  first  discovered  the  layman  and 
began  to  utilize  his  individual  gifts  for  the  Kingdom 
of  God  rendered  the  Church  as  a  whole  a  service  which 
has  put  us  all  in  their  debt.  Great  aspects  of  the  Church's 
redemption  have  always  come  through  her  laymen.  Latin 
Catholicism  in  its  far-reaching  discriminations  between 
the  laity  and  the  clergy  had  done  the  great  causes  of 
the  spirit  a  disservice  which  grew  more  positive  as  the 
distinction  between  the  two  orders  deepened  and 
hardened.  If  we  cannot  see  the  significance  of  common 
and  unlettered  men,  dealing  always  inadequately  of 
course  and  often  very  foolishly  with  the  high  things  of 
God,  we  have  lost  the  gift  of  discriminating  vision.  For 
all  this  was  to  reestablish  the  life  of  God  in  the  common 
affairs  of  society  and  to  find  new  channels  for  the  revela- 
tion of  His  spirit.  Sooner  or  later  some  one,  of  all  this 
obscure  and  groping  fellowship,  was  sure  to  speak  out  of 
the  fullness  of  an  homely  experience  some  word  or  other 
which  would  be,  because  of  the  spiritual  passion  which 
prompted  it  and  the  wise  human  insight  which  lay  be- 
hind it,  and  the  free,  vital  conditions  under  which  it  was 
said,  our  common  and  priceless  possession.  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  was  just  that  word. 

No  one  could  have  written  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  with- 
out such  ancestries  and  experiences  as  met  in  John 
Bunyan.  The  clergyman  of  any  church  would  have 
given  it,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  hopelessly  ecclesiastical 

1  P.  418. 


2o8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

bias,  the  learned  could  not  have  been  so  simple,  nor  those 
disciphned  in  the  schools  so  wise.  No  one  who  had  not 
been  the  comrade  of  men  in  the  homely  concerns  of  life 
could  have  spoken  so  directly  to  the  universal  human 
heart.  Much,  of  course,  distinctive  in  the  movement 
which  begot  the  book  makes  no  showing  in  its  pages.  It 
is  always  the  province  of  the  master  to  get  himself  clear 
of  the  capricious,  the  bizarre,  and  the  adventitious  and, 
winnowing  out  the  chaff,  to  keep  only  the  pure  grain  of 
the  enterprise  whose  voice  he  has  become.  All  the 
social  side  of  Anabaptism,  for  example,  is  wanting  in 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  yet  we  have  seen  how  the 
Anabaptist  movement  was,  in  one  great  aspect  of  it,  the 
expression  of  a  vague,  unformed,  social  passion. 

The  hall  marks  of  mysticism  are  equally  wanting, 
though  Anabaptism  was,  in  other  of  its  aspects,  but  one 
more  troubled  phase  of  the  mystical  religions.  John 
Bunyan  had  borne  a  costly  witness  to  his  fidelity  to  the 
Baptist  faith  and  yet  one  would  not  easily  discover  from 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  to  what  church  he  belonged.  The 
tinker  of  Bedford  Jail  did  that  which  is  given  only  to  one 
man  in  a  century  to  do  :  he  took  unto  himself,  whether  by 
inheritance,  or  by  the  forces  which  shaped  him,  or  by  his 
own  sad  travail  of  soul,  or  by  a  kind  of  many-sided  one- 
ness with  his  time — which  is  the  secret  of  each  master's 
power — impulses,  doctrines,  restlessnesses,  in  short  the 
confusion  of  a  great  undisciplined,  unorganized,  unreg- 
ulated spiritual  movement,  and  he  so  dwelt  upon  it  in 
his  meditations  and  so  clarified  it  by  his  life  and  so 
universalized  it  by  his  sheer  human  genius  that,  when  at 
last  he  gave  it  back  to  men,  he  gave  it  back  to  them  in  a 
universal  language.  No  superficial  experience  was  com- 
petent to  produce  an  effect  like  that ;  it  needed  mighty 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        209 

inner  wrestlings.  So  John  Bunyan  belongs  to  the  fellow- 
ship of  the  twice-born  and  the  real  interest  of  his 
biography  attaches  to  its  inner  rather  than  its  outer  proc- 
esses. 

He  was  born  in  1628  just  as  Charles  the  First  was 
making  up  his  royal  and  misguided  mind  to  rule  for  eleven 
momentous  years  without  a  parhament.  He  died  in  1688 
just  as  parliament  itself  was  making  up  its  mind  to  unseat 
the  House  of  Stuart  and  teach  the  English  kings  once  and 
for  all  that  they  ruled  only  upon  the  sufferance  of  their 
people.  John  Bunyan's  sixty  stormy  years  saw  the 
tragic  outcome  of  Charles'  experiment,  the  wars  of  the 
Commonwealth,  the  brief  and  splendid  dominance  of  the 
red  star  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  the  setting  of  that  star  and 
the  collapse  of  the  hopes  of  militant  Puritanism,  the 
moral  murk  of  the  Reformation,  the  unteachable  folly  of 
the  last  Stuart,  and  the  beginnings  of  a  better,  braver  day 
for  England.  Coincident  with  all  this  was  the  Puritan 
migration  and  the  establishment  of  a  new  England  in  the 
shadow  of  the  immemorial  forests  of  a  new  world.  Surely 
these  were  great  times  in  which  to  have  lived,  but  for  the 
biographer  of  John  Bunyan  their  interest  is  not  in  the 
hall  of  parliament,  or  the  council  chamber  of  kings,  or 
with  the  hard-bitten  Iron-Sides,  or  upon  the  fields  of 
Marston  Moor  and  Naseby. 

•*  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  is  not,  indeed,  uncoloured  by  the 
time  through  which  Bunyan  passed — "  he  was  during  one 
brief  campaign  himself  a  soldier  " — and  the  picturesque 
imagery  of  war  lived  ever  afterwards  in  his  vivid  imagina- 
tion to  be  summoned  upon  occasion  for  the  uses  of  the 
soul.  The  sound  of  trumpet  is  never  wanting  in  his 
pages  ;  "  he  loved  to  draw  his  illustrations  of  sacred  things 
from  camps  and  fortresses,  from  guns,  drums,  trumpets, 


210      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

flags  of  truce,  and  regiments  arrayed  each  under  its  own 
banner."  He  loved  a  good  fight  in  a  good  cause  and  his 
pilgrims  are  able  to  give  a  good  account  of  themselves 
with  their  swords  laying  about  mightily.  But  the  battles 
with  which  John  Bunyan  was  most  concerned  were  upon 
the  high  table-lands  of  his  own  soul.  He  fought  not 
«*  against  flesh  and  blood,  but  against  principalities,  against 
powers,  against  the  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world, 
against  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places.'* 

That  war  began  early.  **  Before  he  was  ten,  his  sports 
were  interrupted  by  fits  of  remorse  and  despair  ;  and  his 
sleep  was  disturbed  by  dreams  of  fiends,  trying  to  fly 
away  with  him."  A  boy  driven  so  early  to  the  fight  was 
not  wanting  either  in  imagination  or  sensibility.  Bunyan 
and  his  later  biographers  do  not  agree  as  to  the  extent  of 
his  moral  depravity ;  Bunyan  himself  has  not  words 
hard  enough  to  indicate  the  state  of  his  unregenerate 
soul,  but  we  need  to  take  notice  that  he  confines  himself 
to  generalities — save  that  he  professes  himself  profane 
enough  to  shock  old  women — and  that  accused  by 
others  of  definite  shortcomings  in  the  flesh  he  denied 
their  accusations  quite  as  vehemently  as  he  proclaimed 
his  own  wickedness.  It  has  been  the  custom  to  take 
Bunyan  at  his  own  estimate  of  himself,  so  much  more 
wonderful  does  the  grace  abounding  of  God  then  become ; 
against  such  backgrounds  the  testimony  of  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress "  glows  with  a  rarer  light.  An  analysis  of 
Bunyan's  young  manhood,  happy  or  unhappy,  does  not 
substantiate  his  claim  to  have  been  far  and  away  the  chief 
of  sinners.  "  The  four  chief  sins  of  which  he  was  guilty 
were  dancing,  ringing  the  bells  of  the  parish  church, 
playing  at  tipcat,  and  reading  the  history  of  Sir  Bevis  of 
Southampton."     Most  of  us  would  consider  the  problems 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        211 

of  parental  discipline  rarely  simplified  if  we  had  to  deal 
with  nothing  worse. 

The  true  significance  of  Bunyan's  experiences  is  to  be 
sought,  not  in  that  against  which  he  waged  warfare,  but  in 
the  reality  of  the  strife.  He  too  was  committed  to  the  quest 
for  peace :  a  peace  not  to  be  attained  without  surrender. 
Much  which  he  felt  called  upon  to  give  up  seems  to  us  so 
trivial  as  to  be  not  worth  dwelling  upon,  but  that  is  beside 
the  point.  Somewhere  or  other  a  man's  soul  must  be 
engaged ;  somewhere  or  other  along  the  long  frontier 
between  the  world  and  the  spirit  "  the  lust  of  the  flesh, 
and  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life  "  take  actual 
and  challenging  shape  and  offer  us  battle.  Whether 
they  solicit  us  in  the  wayward  ringing  of  church  bells, 
the  selling  of  a  birthright,  or  the  sights  and  sounds  of  a 
far  country  is  not  primarily  material.  How  a  man  bears 
himself  is  the  first  question,  whether  or  no  he  is  minded 
to  surrender  and  when  and  how  he  wins  the  victory. 
The  fields  upon  which  we  are  to  fight  are  determined  for 
us  by  boards  of  strategy  which  do  not  consult  us.  In  a 
multitude  of  ways  theirsealed  orders  reach  us — inheritance, 
environment,  training,  temperament,  the  ruling  ideas  of 
the  time  in  which  we  live,  the  shaping  of  circumstances, 
the  interplay  of  kindling  forces  bring  us  to  the  place  of 
our  high  appointed  strife.  It  is  ours  to  play  the  man 
and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  to  hold  the  field. 

The  deeper  significance  then  of  Bunyan's  long-drawn 
inner  strife  must  not  be  sought  in  the  things  about  which 
he  was  concerned,  but  rather  in  his  supreme  concern  for 
his  soul's  peace  and  salvation.  His  whole  experience 
witnesses  to  his  extreme  sensibility  and  to  his  vivid 
imagination.  He  hears  voices,  sure  evidence  of  a 
most   high   strung   temperament.     In  such  experiences 


212      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

he  belongs  to  the  fellowship  of  the  mystics.  He 
was  offered  in  the  midst  of  a  most  innocent  game  the 
dreadful  alternative  of  leaving  his  sins  and  going  to  heaven 
or  keeping  his  sins  and  going  to  hell.  He  dared  not 
ring  the  church  bells  for  fear  the  tower  would  fall  upon 
him.  Surely  he  must  from  time  to  time  have  rather 
sorely  tried  the  comrades  of  his  sports.  He  was  tempted 
as  so  many  have  been  to  stake  everything  upon  one 
supreme  test,  to  cry  to  the  water  by  the  roadside  "  Be 
thou  dry  "  and  so  to  settle  the  question  of  his  salvation, 
"  for,"  he  argued,  "  if  I  have  faith  I  shall  be  saved,  and  if 
I  have  faith  I  may  work  miracles."  He  even  sought  to 
secure  a  kind  of  impersonal  salvation  by  associating  him- 
self with  the  Jews.  In  that  case  he  would  share  with  the 
chosen  people  the  fulfillment  of  the  promises  which  were 
made  to  them  as  Abraham's  seed.  The  only  trouble 
with  this  plan  was  that  he  could  find  no  trace  of  Jewish 
blood  in  the  Bunyan  family  record — which  must  however 
have  been  ill  kept — and  his  father  was,  moreover,  very 
unwilling  to  confess  himself  related  to  the  Jews,  even  for 
the  sake  of  his  son's  salvation.  "  After  I  had  been  thus 
for  some  considerable  time,  another  thought  came  in  my 
mind  ;  and  that  was,  whether  we  were  of  the  Israelites  or 
no  ?  For  finding  in  Scripture  that  they  were  once  the 
peculiar  people  of  God,  thought  I,  if  I  were  one  of  this 
race,  my  soul  must  needs  be  happy.  Now  again,  I  found 
within  me  a  great  longing  to  be  resolved  about  this 
question,  but  could  not  tell  how  I  should :  at  last  I  asked 
my  father  of  it,  who  told  me,  no,  we  were  not.  Where- 
fore, then  I  fell  in  my  spirit,  as  to  the  hopes  of  that,  and 
so  remained."  *  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to 
fight  it  through.     All  that  he  afterwards  put  on  record  of 

1  "  Grace  Abounding." 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        213 

Christian's  experience  with  Apollyon  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  is  but  the  transcription  of  his  own  experiences. 
Frightful  and  blasphemous  voices  whispered  the  unspeak- 
able in  his  ears,  forms  of  terror  encompassed  him,  and 
the  deep  darkness  of  doubt  lay  all  across  his  path.  He 
was  persuaded,  as  so  many  others  have  been,  that  he  had 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  He  is  tempted  to  the 
sin  of  Judas  ;  insistent  and  almost  uncounted  voices  keep 
urging  him  to  renounce  his  own  part  in  the  saving  work 
of  Christ  and  to  sell  his  Master.  •<  Sell  Him,  sell  Him," 
the  voices  urged.  The  strain  was  too  much.  "  Let  Him 
go,  if  He  will,"  he  cried  one  day  and  with  that  black 
night  fell  upon  his  soul. 

The  mystics  have  always  had  their  black  night  of  the 
soul :  a  stage,  that  is,  of  depression  and  reaction,  follow- 
ing earlier  ecstasies  and  preceding  the  clear  dawn  of  their 
day  of  cloudless  peace.  The  darkness  through  which 
Bunyan  fought  his  troubled  way  was  not  of  that  sort :  he 
had  no  earlier  ecstasies,  he  had  been  struggling  through 
shadow  from  his  boyhood.  It  is  easy  to  set  all  this  one 
side  as  wholly  abnormal,  which  indeed  it  was,  and  barren, 
which  it  certainly  was  not.  We  know  the  psychological 
bases  of  such  experiences,  the  power  of  auto-suggestion, 
the  return  of  the  mind,  paralyzed  by  fear,  upon  the  very 
thing  it  fears ;  we  know  that  the  positive  is  always  the 
door  of  escape  from  the  negative.  What  Bunyan  needed, 
of  course,  was  friendly  counsel,  a  greater  sense  of  the  love 
of  God,  and  wholesome  occupations  both  of  mind  and 
body.  He  found  little  help  at  a  time  when  his  need  was 
sore ;  the  books  which  he  read  only  deepened  his  misery, 
the  friends  with  whom  he  counselled  brought  him  no 
peace.  "  I  am  afraid,"  said  Bunyan  upon  one  occasion  to 
an  "  ancient  man  of  high  repute  for  piety,"  "  that  I  have 


214      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost."  •'  Indeed," 
was  the  temperate  and  consohng  reply,  "  I  am  afraid  that 
you  have."  Bunyan  found  cold  enough  comfort  in  such 
a  reply  as  this.  Talking  with  the  man  further,  however, 
he  was  led  to  doubt  whether  his  Job's  comforter  spoke 
out  of  a  really  qualifying  experience.  He  "  found  him," 
he  says,  •*  though  a  good  man,  a  stranger  to  much  combat 
with  the  devil.  Wherefore  I  went  to  God  again,  as  well 
as  I  could,  for  mercy  still."  ^  Such  fightings  within  and 
fears  without  are  a  heavy  burden  for  any  soul  to  bear. 
Only  the  bravest  and  most  self-sufficient  are  equal  to  such 
things.  The  Catholic  Church  provides  the  confessional 
for  hke  troubled  ones,  corrects  out  of  the  stress  of  her 
vast  experience  such  spiritual  maladies,  and  in  her  abso- 
lutions offers  peace.  All  this  is  well  enough  and  very 
hkely  Protestantism  has  paid  a  great  price  for  the  want 
of  it,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  it  was  the  travail  of 
John  Bunyan's  soul  which  gave  us  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 
We  may  let  our  sympathy  with  birth  pangs  carry  us  far, 
but  never  so  far  as  to  forget  that  they  are  the  price — the 
age-old  price — of  life  and  birth,  and  hope  and  new  begin- 
nings. Bunyan  himself  wore  through  his  darkness,  the 
clouds  began  to  break,  and  the  Dayspring  from  on  high 
arose  upon  him. 

In  all  the  long  record  of  such  strife,  as  Bunyan  has 
written  it  down,  we  have  a  constant  witness  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  Bible  and  its  texts  for  that  sorely  tried  man.  It 
is  something  more  than  an  armoury  from  which  he  draws 
his  weapons ;  it  is  for  him  the  holy  word  of  God.  He 
was  wanting,  of  course,  in  his  use  of  it  in  all  those 
methods  which  is  to-day  our  commonplace ;  he  does 
not  seek  to  interpret  the  text  by  the  context  or  to  ascer- 

'    * "  Grace  Abounding." 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        215 

tain  what  the  author  of  the  text  himself  had  in  mind. 
For  him  each  passage  is  perfect  and  apart.  But  the  inter- 
wrought  play  of  soul  and  the  truth  so  revealed  in  alter- 
nations of  light  and  shadow,  hope  and  despair,  helps  us  to 
understand,  as  perhaps  few  other  human  documents  do, 
what  the  Bible  meant  to  men  and  women  who  came  to 
it  with  a  sense  of  discovery  which  we  have  lost,  with  an 
intensity  of  faith  now  profoundly  altered,  and  with  a 
passion  for  redemption  which  made  that  redemption  the 
supreme  business  of  their  lives  and  made  every  word  of 
the  Bible  from  cover  to  cover  a  force  to  be  reckoned 
with,  a  revelation  to  be  followed,  a  weapon  to  be  seized, 
or  a  strength  to  be  leaned  upon  in  the  achievement 
of  salvation.  In  a  narration  whose  homely  and  fitly 
chosen  words,  taken  so  often  from  common  uses  and 
familiar  services,  are  so  perfectly  the  vehicle  of  the  mes- 
sage which  they  carry  that  not  one  of  them  can  be 
changed  or  spared  while  our  language  lasts,  John  Bunyan 
gives  such  a  vital  interpretation  of  the  meaning  of  the 
text  to  his  soul  that  we  ourselves  live  through  again  with 
him  the  long-drawn,  heart-breaking  intensity  of  the  strife. 
There  are  texts  which  stab  him  like  swords,  texts  which 
cast  for  an  instant  such  a  light  upon  his  shadowed  way 
as  he  must  have  seen  fall  upon  Bedford  meadows  in  the 
rare  sunlit  intervals  of  watery  skies.  There  are  texts  as 
seasonable  to  his  soul  as  the  former  and  the  latter  rain, 
texts  which  seized  upon  him,  words  which  fettered  his 
soul  Hke  fetters  of  brass,  texts  in  the  face  of  whose 
smiting  challenge  the  tempter  did  leer  and  steal  away 
from  him,  passages  which  seared  him  as  with  fire  and 
passages  which  spread  abroad  the  beginnings  of  the  peace 
which  passeth  understanding.  "  Then  fell  with  power 
that  word  of  God  upon  me, '  See  that  ye  refuse  not  Him 


2i6      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

that  speaketh/  This  made  a  strange  seizure  upon  my 
spirit ;  it  brought  light  with  it,  and  commanded  a  silence 
in  my  heart,  of  all  those  tumultuous  thoughts,  that  did 
before  use,  like  masterless  hellhounds,  to  roar  and  bellow, 
and  make  a  hideous  noise  with  me.  It  shewed  me  also 
that  Jesus  Christ  had  yet  a  word  of  grace  and  mercy  for 
me."  *  There  are  certain  promises  at  which  he  catches 
as  a  spent  swimmer  at  a  plank,  and  certain  others  for  the 
possession  of  which  he  fights  with  the  adversary  as  Chris- 
tian with  Apollyon.  "  Oh,  many  a  pull  hath  my  heart 
had  with  Satan  for  that  blessed  sixth  chapter  of  John." 

Two  or  three  things,  we  may  be  quite  sure,  Bunyan 
owed  to  all  this.  He  won  upon  such  fields  as  these  his 
marvellous  knowledge  of  the  Bible  and  that  immediate 
and  elastic  response  of  all  within  him  to  its  precepts  and 
its  promises,  the  full  quality  of  which  it  is  so  difficult  to 
indicate.  We  are  not  wanting  to-day  in  multitudes  of 
men  and  women  who  find  the  word  of  God  between  the 
covers  of  the  Book  as  Bunyan  found  it  and  seek  in  fine 
fidelities  and  following  obediences  to  work  out  their  sal- 
vation through  its  guidance  and  direction,  but  it  may  be 
questioned  whether,even  in  such  lives,  some  subtle  change 
has  not  been  wrought,  some  mist  of  doubt  arisen,  not 
dense  enough  indeed  to  shape  itself  in  clouds  but  real 
enough  to  give  a  new  quality  to  spiritual  atmospheres. 
As  he  sends  out  his  pilgrims  upon  their  roads  of  pilgrim- 
age he  furnishes  them  with  the  weapons,  he  knew  best. 
They  meet  their  adversaries  with  proof  texts,  comfort 
themselves  as  they  grow  weary  with  dear  remembered 
promises,  and  find  in  all  the  course  of  their  pilgrimage 
that  the  way-marks  which  the  very  intensity  of  the  quest 
itself  demand  are  also  such  way-marks  as  the  Bible  sup- 

*"  Grace  Abounding." 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        217 

plies.  There  is  something  more  than  a  coincidence 
here ;  there  is  an  abiding  testimony  to  the  fundamental 
unity  of  all  spiritual  aspirations  and  to  the  unescapable 
stages  of  any  journey  in  any  age  from  the  City  of  De- 
struction to  the  City  of  Light.  "  All  mystics,"  to  quote 
St.  Martin  again  (and  in  our  pilgrim's  progress  we  are 
all  mystics),  •'  belong  to  the  same  country."  That  is  to 
say,  it  is  something  more  than  a  coincidence  that  John 
Bunyan  is  able  to  show  proof  texts  for  every  stage  of 
Christian's  journey — and  that  without  doing  violence  to 
the  texts  themselves — and  to  furnish  out  of  the  Bible 
all  the  country  which  he  crossed  with  certain  features 
which  make  it  deathless,  while  every  one  of  us  feels  at 
the  same  time  that  Bunyan  does  but  furnish  forth  what 
every  man  of  us  knows  in  his  own  wayfaring  and  vah- 
dates  in  his  own  experience. 

What  is  all  this  but  one  more  sure  testimony  that  the 
Bible  itself  is  a  pilgrim's  progress ;  the  revelation  of  the 
experience  at  once  of  a  race,  and  of  the  ardent  and 
aspiring  souls  of  that  race  singled  out  to  become  its  spokes- 
men, seeking  a  city  which  hath  the  foundations,  whose 
builder  and  maker  is  God !  Patriarchs,  judges,  poets, 
prophets,  each  in  his  own  time  and  each  in  his  own 
degree  are  travelling  the  same  road.  Where  the  prophets 
gave  over  the  apostles  began,  what  others  but  dimly  felt 
Jesus  made  radiantly  certain,  where  others  faltered  He 
walked  in  a  heavenly  security,  the  lands  which  others 
sought  He  spoke  of  as  His  own  home  country.  The 
Bible  is  thus  the  one  treasure  house  for  pilgrims  always 
and  everywhere.  They  do  but  repeat  in  some  fashion 
the  experiences  which  made  the  Book  and  when,  there- 
fore, the  story  of  the  pilgrimage  is  furnished  forth  and 
illustrated  as  it  was  by  Bunyan  out  of  the  Book  itself  it 


2i8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

is  deep  calling  unto  deep :  the  vaster  adventures  of  which 
the  Bible  is  the  record,  the  vaster  need  to  which  the  Bible 
is  the  answer,  correct,  hearten,  restrain,  perfect  the  lonely 
adventurer. 

Bunyan's  experiences  in  this  long-drawn  strife  lend 
a  certain  quality,  otherwise  difficult  to  account  for,  to 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress."  Pilgrim  is  never  safe  until  he  has 
finally  got  across  the  river  and  has  begun  to  climb  the 
heavenly  steeps.  He  saw,  indeed,  as  he  looked  back, 
once  the  river  was  overpassed,  poor  Ignorance  who, 
through  the  kindness  of  one  Vain-Hope,  had  come  dry 
shod  across  the  river,  in  his  own  presumption  had  climbed 
the  hill  unescorted  by  such  rejoicing  angels  as  came  to 
meet  Christian  and  had  indeed  knocked  at  the  gate ;  he 
saw,  I  say,  that  poor  Ignorance,  having  come  even  so  far 
as  this,  utterly  failed  of  entrance  through  want  of  a  cer- 
tificate and  found  to  his  own  sad  undoing  that  there  is  a 
way  to  hell  from  the  gates  of  heaven.  Froude  is  not  a 
little  troubled  by  this  untoward  ending  of  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  and  thinks — in  which  indeed  we  will  agree 
with  him — poor  Ignorance  deserving  of  no  such  hard 
fate.*  Such  consideration  may  be  true  enough,  but  it  is 
beside  the  mark.  There  are  no  stages  of  safety  in  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress  "  anywhere  between  the  gate  of  the  City 
of  Destruction  and  inside  the  walls  of  the  Celestial  City 
because,  among  other  things,  Bunyan's  own  pilgrimage 
had  lasted  so  long,  hope  had  so  often  been  eclipsed,  and 
the  cup  of  living  water  so  often  snatched  from  his  lips. 
It  is  the  militant  experiences  of  the  author,  long  con- 
tinued and  rather  grown  out  of  than  finished  by  any 
signal  triumph,  to  which  we  are  partly  in  debt  at  least  for 
the  long-drawn  militant  quality  of  Pilgrim's  experiences, 
•  James  Anthony  Froude,  **  Bunyan." 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        219 

I  would  not  urge  this  too  far,  but  I  am  just  as  sure,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  it  needs  to  be  taken  into  account. 
Poor  Bunyan's  life  was  sadly  wanting  in  peace,  for  when 
indeed,  after  many  buffetings,  he  had  secured  the  inner 
peace,  the  doors  of  Bedford  Jail  opened  and  he  sat  for 
long  in  its  "  stinking  dungeon." 

It  was  a  hard  world  for  a  non-conformist  tinker  who 
had  such  a  sense  of  the  Unseen  and  Eternal  as  no  man 
had  possessed  since  Dante,  and  who  was  minded  to 
preach  the  Gospel.  No  wonder  his  Christian  was  hard 
put  to  it  until  he  found  ground  to  stand  upon  well-nigh 
across  the  river.  Last  of  all  just  as  the  duration  of  this 
experience  gave  a  long-drawn  militant  quality  to  Chris- 
tian's search,  just  as  the  weapons  with  which  he  furnished 
himself  gave  him  a  knowledge  of  the  Bible,  without  which 
he  could  never  have  done  his  work,  so  the  very  intensity 
of  his  experience  gives  a  deathless  vividness  to  his  inter- 
pretation of  other  men's  battles.  The  compelling  note 
of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  is  an  unbelievable  realism ;  the 
friends  and  foes  of  the  spirit  which  throng  its  pages  are 
no  mere  personifications :  they  are  more  than  incarna- 
tions. It  is  the  least  abstract  book  in  the  world.  How 
abstract  many  of  its  contentions  were  capable  of  becom- 
ing doctrinal  Puritanism  was  afterwards  to  make  sadly 
evident,  but  there  is  not  an  abstraction  of  doctrinal  Puri- 
tanism which  does  not  become  real  as  one's  next  door 
neighbour  in  the  pages  of  ♦•  Pilgrim's  Progress."  The 
things  with  which  you  have  done  battle  for  your  life  are 
never  abstractions.  The  moving  pages  of  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  lived,  first  of  all,  in  the  soul  of  John  Bunyan. 
He  had  met  during  the  years  of  his  agony  all  the  throng- 
ing fellowship  with  which  Christian  had  to  deal,  had  lis- 
tened with  spacious  arguments  to  all  the  hidden  enemies 


220      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

of  the  soul  and  had  been  shaken  by  their  whispered  sug- 
gestions. "  He  shall  be,"  said  Simeon  of  the  child  Jesus, 
"  He  shall  be  the  revealer  of  the  hearts  of  men."  In  his 
own  measure  John  Bunyan  is  the  revealer  of  the  hearts 
of  men  because  he  bore  and  suffered  so  much  in  himself. 

Bunyan  had  come  before  the  end  of  his  long  set-to  with 
fear  and  doubt  and  temptation  to  find  much  comfort  and 
peace  in  the  fellowship  of  the  Baptist  Church  in  Bedford. 
Whether  or  no  they  had  always  given  him  wise  counsel 
may  be  open  to  question,  but  they  had  at  least  given  him 
a  real  comradeship  and  a  living  manifestation  of  the  peace 
he  was  seeking.  He  dates  one  of  his  own  points  of  spir- 
itual departure  from  that  day  when  the  good  providence 
of  God  called  him  to  Bedford  to  work  at  his  calling,  and 
he  saw  in  one  of  the  streets  of  that  town  "  three  or  four 
poor  women  sitting  at  a  door,  in  the  sun,  talking  about 
the  things  of  God."  He  drew  near  to  hear  what  they 
said  and  so  came  to  long  all  the  more  earnestly  that  he 
too  might  sit  in  the  sun  of  divine  favour  and  that  the 
things  of  God  might  be  real  in  his  own  life.  Later  still 
the  state  and  happiness  of  these  poor  people  at  Bedford 
were  presented  to  him  in  a  kind  of  vision.  "  I  saw  as  if 
they  were  on  the  sunny  side  of  some  high  mountain, 
there  refreshing  themselves  with  the  pleasant  beams  of 
the  sun,  while  I  was  shivering  and  shrinking  in  the  cold, 
afflicted  with  frost,  snow,  and  dark  clouds :  methought 
also,  betwixt  me  and  them,  I  saw  a  wall  that  did  compass 
about  this  mountain  ;  now  through  this  wall,  my  soul  did 
greatly  desire  to  pass  ;  concluding,  that  if  I  could,  I  would 
even  go  into  the  very  midst  of  them,  and  there  also  com- 
fort myself  with  the  heat  of  their  sun." 

Such  a  picture  as  that  of  the  three  or  four  women  sit- 
ting in  the  sun  not  only  testifies  to  Bunyan's  vivid  sense 


BUN  VAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS       221 

of  the  meaning  of  homely  things,  but  testifies  also  to  the 
reality  of  religion  in  obscure  and  difficult  places.  Miche- 
let's  picture  of  the  "  Beghards  "  singing  at  their  looms 
in  the  sunless  basements  of  high-timbered  houses  in 
Flemish  cities  and  Bunyan's  picture  of  old  women  sitting 
in  the  sun  in  Bedford  Street  and  speaking  of  the  high 
things  of  God  are  all  of  a  piece.  They  disclose  to  us 
those  hidden  sources  of  strength  which  have  kept  men 
strong  in  loneliness  and  poverty,  they  help  us  to  sense  a 
quiet  tide  of  unhindered  peace  flowing  beneath  the  stormy 
movements  of  restless  times  and  flooding  unexpectedly 
the  lives  of  folk  who  had,  on  any  other  showing,  little  to 
live  for,  they  help  us  to  understand  that  however  the  Gos- 
pel of  Jesus  urges  us  to  social  reconstructions  which  are 
to  make  poverty  but  the  forgotten  shadow  of  a  dream. 
He  had  other  meanings  when  He  said, "  Come  unto  Me 
all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest." 

Bunyan  joined  his  friend  Mr.  Gifford's  church  and  was 
baptized  in  the  river  Ouse.  In  that  congregation  his 
gifts  came  speedily  to  be  recognized.  We  have  reason 
to  believe  that  he  had  prospered  modestly  in  his  worldly 
undertakings.  His  name  is  in  1653  attached  to  an  ad- 
dress sent  from  Bedfordshire  to  Cromwell  '•  approving 
the  dismissal  of  the  Long  Parliament,  recognizing  Oliver 
himself  as  the  Lord's  instrument,  and  recommending  the 
county  magistrates  as  fit  persons  to  serve  in  the  Assem- 
bly which  was  to  take  its  place."  ^  He  would  not  likely 
have  been  permitted  to  sign  such  a  document  had  he  not 
been  a  householder.  Whatever  he  possessed  could  not 
have  been  sufficient  to  endanger  his  hope  of  salvation,  for 
he   had   begun  most  humbly.      He  had  married  in  his 

^  James  Anthony  Froude,  '•  Bunyan,"  p.  54. 


222      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

youth  wholly  on  faith  and  love.  "  My  mercy  was  to 
light  upon  a  wife  whose  father  was  counted  godly :  this 
woman  and  I,  though  we  came  together  as  poor  as  poor 
might  be  (not  having  so  much  household  stuff  as  a  dish  or  a 
spoon  betwixt  us  both),  yet  this  she  had  for  her  part, 
*  The  Plain  Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven ;  the  Practice  of 
Piety  ' ;  which  her  father  had  left  her  when  he  died.  In 
these  two  books  I  should  sometimes  read  with  her, 
wherein  I  also  found  some  things  that  were  somewhat 
pleasing  to  me ;  but  all  this  while  I  met  with  no  con- 
viction." * 

Bunyan's  real  power,  of  course,  lay  in  other  regions 
than  the  conduct  of  his  trade.  No  man  who  had  come 
through  such  fires  as  he  and  could  so  body  forth  his 
experiences  would  long  be  permitted  to  remain  silent. 
It  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  time  when  the  obscurer  re- 
ligious bodies  were  discovering  the  lay  preacher  and 
when  there  was  a  place  for  a  tinker  in  the  ministry  of  the 
word.  Bunyan  began  modestly  enough.  "  After  this, 
sometimes,  when  some  of  them  did  go  into  the  country 
to  teach,  they  would  also  that  I  should  go  with  them ; 
where,  though  as  yet  I  did  not,  nor  durst  not,  make  use 
of  my  gift  in  an  open  way,  yet  more  privately,  still,  as  I 
came  amongst  the  good  people  in  those  places,  I  did 
sometimes  speak  a  word  of  admonition  unto  them  also, 
the  which  they,  as  the  other,  received  with  rejoicing  at 
the  mercy  of  God  to  me-ward,  professing  their  souls  were 
edified  thereby.  Wherefore  to  be  brief,  at  last,  being  still 
desired  by  the  Church,  after  some  solemn  prayer  to  the 
Lord,  with  fasting,  I  was  more  particularly  called  forth, 
and  appointed  to  a  more  ordinary  and  public  preaching 
of  the  word,  not  only  to  and  amongst  them  that  believed, 

1 "  Grace  Abounding." 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        223 

but  also  to  offer  the  Gospel  to  those  who  had  not  yet  re- 
ceived the  faith  thereof;  about  which  time  I  did  evidently 
find  in  my  mind  a  secret  pricking  forward  thereto;  though 
I  bless  God,  not  for  desire  of  vain  glory,  for  at  that  time 
I  was  most  sorely  afflicted  with  the  fiery  darts  of  the 
devil,  concerning  my  eternal  state."  * 

No  need  to  dwell  upon  the  quality  of  his  ministry ;  we 
should  know  what  that  was  had  he  never  told  us.  "  In- 
deed, I  have  been  as  one  sent  to  them  from  the  dead ;  I 
went  myself  in  chains,  to  preach  to  them  in  chains ;  and 
carried  that  fire  in  my  conscience,  that  I  persuaded  them 
to  be  aware  of."^  He  grew  in  his  own  soul  in  such  ex- 
ercises as  these  and  beat  back  the  devil  for  himself  as  he 
laid  about  for  his  congregation. 

A  serener  note  began  gradually  to  disclose  itself.  "  I 
did  much  labour  to  hold  forth  Jesus  Christ  in  all  His 
offices,  relations,  and  benefits  unto  the  world."  He  suf- 
fered sore  for  this  preaching,  but  continued  faithful  unto 
the  end  and  gradually  won  more  than  the  tolerance  of  the 
"  doctors  and  priests  of  the  country."  The  more  sincere 
and  devout  of  them  could  not  fail  to  see  that  here  also 
was  a  man  named  John  who  was  sent  from  God  He 
never,  he  says,  *<  cared  to  meddle  with  things  that  were 
controverted,  especially  things  of  the  lowest  nature  ;  yet 
it  pleased  me  much  to  contend  with  great  earnestness  for 
the  word  of  faith,  and  the  remission  of  sins  by  the  death 
and  sufferings  of  Jesus."  He  must  have  been  popular 
for  he  saw  people  drink  in  his  opinions.  He  goes  on  to 
add  that  that  pleased  him  nothing,  though  this  we  may 
be  permitted  to  doubt.  He  had  many  children  of  his 
spiritual  labour  and  knew  the  worth  of  that  beatitude 
which  promises  rare  blessing  to  all  those  about  whom 

»«' Grace  Abounding."  *  Ibid. 


224      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

much  evil  is  spoken  falsely.  So  the  work  which  was 
begun  in  the  dark  night  of  his  soul  began  to  ripen  in  his 
ministry  and  came  to  its  perfect  fruit  in  Bedford  Jail.  It 
was  impossible  for  such  a  hght  as  Bunyan's  to  be  hidden 
under  a  bushel. 

He  was  well  known  in  all  the  Midland  counties  and 
was  in  demand  everywhere.  Meanwhile,  as  the  dis- 
ordered ferment  of  English  religious  life  increased,  the 
Protectorate  of  Oliver  Cromwell  came  to  its  stormy  end. 
With  the  end  of  the  Commonwealth,  says  Green  in  sub- 
stance, the  hope  of  Puritanism  to  establish  the  Kingdom 
of  God  by  the  sword  also  came  to  an  end.  Henceforth 
the  truer  part  of  such  passions  as  the  Commonwealth 
sought  to  express,  whether  in  church  or  state,  was  to 
work  itself  out  in  less  dramatic  channels  and  to  constitute 
a  leaven  rather  than  to  become  the  form  of  the  state. 
But  there  were  hard  times  in  store  for  all  those  who  had 
thought  that  Cromwell  was  he  who  should  save  Israel 
and  that  the  Kingdom  of  God  was  forthwith  to  come,  for 
directly  the  Stuarts  were  set  upon  their  none  too  firmly 
established  throne  they  sought  to  undo  everything  which 
they  could  reach  and  to  secure  many  things  which,  in  the 
end,  they  were  to  be  shown  unable  to  reach.  The  res- 
toration was  held  to  have  revived  the  thirty-fifth  Act  of 
Elizabeth.  "  Non-conformists  refusing  to  attend  worship 
in  the  parish  churches  were  to  be  imprisoned  till  they 
made  their  submission.  Three  months  were  allowed 
them  to  consider.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  they  were 
still  obstinate,  they  were  to  be  banished  the  realm  ;  and  if 
they  subsequently  returned  to  England  without  permis- 
sion from  the  Crown,  they  were  liable  to  execution  as 
felons."  *     Froude  seems  to  think  that  there  was  probably 

^  James  Anthony  Froude,  "  Bunyan,"  p,  67. 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIMS  PROGRESS        225 

a  real  necessity  for  the  revival  of  this  Act.  Froude  has  a 
genius  for  supposing  many  things  which  may  or  may  not 
be  so.  But  it  was,  we  should  all  at  least  agree,  the 
strange  irony  of  fate  which  singled  out  the  Bedford 
Baptists  as  the  first  objects  of  religious  persecution  and 
made  John  Bunyan  the  first  non-conformist  marked  for 
arrest. 

He  was  offered  his  liberty  on  what  seemed  to  the 
magistrates,  before  whom  he  was  tried,  reasonably  easy 
terms  :  he  had  only  to  promise  not  to  preach  and  to  be 
substantially  false  to  the  compulsion  which  God  had  laid 
upon  his  soul.  It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  make  the 
choice ;  he  had  been  lately  remarried  and  even  while  he 
was  being  tried,  his  wife  lay  at  home  in  peril  through  the 
premature  labour  which  his  arrest  had  brought  upon  her. 
He  had  besides  four  young  children,  one  of  them  bhnd. 
He  was  indicted  as  having  "  devilishly  and  pertinaciously 
abstained  from  coming  to  church  "  and  as  being  the 
"  common  upholder  of  unlawful  meetings  and  conventicles, 
to  the  great  disturbance  and  distraction  of  the  good  sub- 
jects of  this  kingdom."  The  authorities  seemed  unwill- 
ing to  go  to  extremities  with  him ;  they  advised  him,  as 
such  gentlemen  have  always  done,  not  to  interfere  with 
the  high  things  of  the  spirit ;  they  told  him  that  while  he 
was  quite  right  in  thinking  that  he  ought  not  to  hide  his 
gift,  his  real  gift  was  in  the  tinkering  of  old  kettles. 
Great  things  turn  on  small  hinges  sometimes.  The 
wholly  negligible  mutations  of  Florentine  politics  sent  out 
Dante  an  exile  to  eat  other  men's  bread,  climb  other 
men's  stairs,  and  write  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  ;  an  ungener- 
ous law  and  a  foolish  magistracy  conspired  with  the  deep 
things  of  the  spirit  to  offer  John  Bunyan  the  occasion  for 
writing  «'  Pilgrim's  Progress."     The  men  who  sent  him  to 


226     PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Bedford  Jail  made  their  best  bid  for  immortality  in  telling 
John  Bunyan  that  he  was  fit  only  to  mend  kettles. 

In  the  end  he  was  imprisoned  for  three  months  with 
nothing  to  expect  when  the  three  months  were  ended  but 
conformity  or  exile.  A  safe  tradition  and  the  judgment 
of  scholarly  biographers  has  assigned  Bunyan  to  the  worst 
of  the  three  Bedford  jails.  Froude  with  that  invincible 
optimism,  that  genius  for  the  rehabilitation  of  doubtful 
characters  and  difficult  situations  in  which  he  is  always 
indulging,  is  quite  persuaded  that  Bunyan  was  put  in  the 
best  and  not  the  worst  of  the  jails  and  that  his  treatment 
was  not  severe.  Bunyan  himself  seems  to  have  thought 
otherwise.  ^^  His  treatment  did  indeed  vary,  but  it  is  enough 
to  say  that  for  twelve  years  he  lay  in  Bedford  Jail.  He 
supported  his  family  by  making  long  tagged  thread  laces  ; 
he  fed  his  soul  upon  the  Bible,  his  courage  upon  Fox's 
book  of  martyrs ;  he  ministered  as  he  was  permitted  to  his 
fellow  prisoners,  and  even  established  something  very 
much  like  a  Baptist  church  in  that  most  untoward 
sanctuary.  He  meditated  upon  the  deep  things  of  the 
spirit  and  began  to  write. 

His  work  showed  from  the  first  those  qualities  which  have 
made  the  best  of  it  as  permanent  as  his  mother  tongue. 
We  have  already  seen  what  fires  of  spiritual  agony  fed 
their  heat  into  his  speech  and  meditations.  He  was  now 
to  discover  a  mastery  of  written  English  which  puts  him 
in  a  class  apart.  The  secret  of  his  style  is,  of  course, 
primarily  in  the  very  fibre  of  his  personality ;  the  style  is 
always  the  man.  Whatever  made  John  Bunyan  made 
his  speech.  He  was  fortunate  in  knowing  but  few 
books  and  in  knowing  best  the  Book  which  furnished 
him  both  model  and  matter.  The  Bible  served  his  style 
so   perfectly   because   he   himself  had   sought   between 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        227 

its  covers  a  ministry  of  an  entirely  different  sort.  He 
went  to  it  for  life,  not  for  its  vocabulary.  He  came  in  the 
end  really  so  to  incarnate  its  spirit  that  he  was  under 
bonds  to  reproduce  its  speech  and,  lo,  he  knew  no  other. 
This  is  not,  however,  the  whole  matter.  The  common 
speech  of  Bunyan's  time  was  the  English  of  the  King 
James  Version.  It  was  a  period  in  the  development  of 
the  English  language  which  that  language  itself  could 
reach  but  once  and  will  not  reach  again.  Behind  John 
Bunyan  lay  the  joy  of  Shakespeare  and  his  compeers  in 
the  discovery  of  their  mother  tongue  and  the  free  and 
constructive  use  of  it,  their  delight  in  bending  its  almost 
infinite  possibilities  to  their  own  lordly  desires,  which 
were  none  the  less  so  truly  one  with  the  language  over 
which  they  lorded  it  that,  while  they  dealt  with  it  as  a 
sculptor  with  his  clay,  they  did  no  violence  to  its  essen- 
tial genius  but  rather  liberated  that  genius  in  the  use 
which  they  made  of  it.  (There  is  no  little  gain  in  being 
granted  the  use  of  a  language  before  the  dictionary 
makers  have  had  their  way  with  it.)  All  this  is,  of  course, 
the  poetic  use  of  language ;  it  soon  escapes,  it  belongs 
to  the  childhood  of  races  and  individuals.  But  ah,  the 
wonder  and  miracle  of  it !  It  was  something  then  of  the 
poet's  joy  and  wonder  in  the  use  of  words  into  which 
John  Bunyan  came  as  into  an  inheritance.  On  the  other 
hand,  discipline  was  beginning  to  tell,  forms  were  being 
established,  the  mother  speech  of  the  English  people 
was  being  given  rules  of  structure  and  employment 
which  were  to  make  thereafter  impossible  the  "  gentle- 
man adventures  "  of  the  high  uncharted  seas  of  speech, 
though  in  those  very  prohibitions  making  speech  itself 
a  clearer  and  more  fitting  vehicle  for  the  commerce  of 
the  spirit. 


228     PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

John  Bunyan,  I  say,  belongs  then,  just  as  the  King 
James  Version  belongs,  to  this  time  of  transition.  He 
possesses,  as  the  King  James  Version  possesses,  the 
incommunicable  secret  of  filling  homely  words  with 
radiant  meanings,  of  bringing  the  suggestion  of  the 
empire  of  the  spirit  to  the  speech  of  the  wayside  and 
the  market-place,  and  of  making  the  shorter,  directer 
Anglo-Saxon  words  which  do  seem  to  offer  so  little  to 
music  and  to  rhythm  something  more  than  the  vehicle 
of  a  suffused  poetry — poetry  itself.  Bunyan's  poetry  is 
almost  unworthy  the  name,  but  his  prose  in  its  nobler 
movements  is  instinct  with  a  free  creative  spirit,  with  a 
rhythmic  balance,  and  with  something  deeper  still :  that 
magic  which  is  the  birthright  of  those  whose  lips  God 
has  touched  and  which  is  as  incapable  of  definition  as  it 
is  certain  of  recognition.  Bunyan  then  drew,  in  his  dic- 
tion, from  those  springs  from  which  the  King  James  trans- 
lators themselves  drew.  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  the 
King  James  Version  are  the  manifestations  of  one  com- 
mon linguistic  impulse.  The  King  James  Version  served 
John  Bunyan  in  this  :  he  constantly  and  unwittingly 
corrected  his  own  more  homely  speech  by  the  culture  of 
that  great  translation  and  thereby  amplified  and  height- 
ened a  style  which,  without  this  rebaptism  in  a  purer 
source,  would  have  been  too  homely  and  too  broken  to 
serve  its  perfect  purpose.     That  is  beyond  debate. 

It  is  very  likely  that  we  owe  to  Bunyan's  third  im- 
prisonment the  greatest  of  his  books.  We  know  now 
that  his  first  imprisonment  lasted  about  six  years,  and 
with  a  brief  respite  his  second  imprisonment  lasted  some 
six  years  longer.  There  is  an  endless  controversy,  as 
has  been  intimated,  over  the  place  or  places  of  this  long 
confinement.      In   a    general   way   the   biographers   of 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS       229 

Bunyan,  belonging  to  the  Established  Church,  seem  very 
desirous  of  proving  how  impossible  it  must  have  been  for 
the  worthy  representatives  of  that  Church  ever  to  have 
treated  so  saintly  a  man  as  John  Bunyan  with  the  tradi- 
tional rigour.  The  Nonconformists,  on  the  other  hand, 
find  real  satisfaction  in  heightening  Bunyan's  sufferings 
and  making  his  imprisonment  dismal  enough.  It  is  too 
late  to  establish,  for  the  properly  constituted  religious 
authorities  of  England  in  the  years  immediately  following 
the  Restoration,  any  saving  record  of  either  clemency  or 
forbearance.  Even  had  Church  and  State  been  minded  to 
do  their  best  for  Bunyan,  that  best  was  bad  enough.  He 
did  have,  however,  towards  the  end  of  his  imprisonment 
considerable  latitude ;  he  was  simply  asked  to  keep  within 
bounds  ;  he  was  put,  as  it  were,  upon  parole. 

Three  years  after  his  second  release  he  was  again  im- 
prisoned, probably  for  the  winter  of  1675  and  1676,  and 
this  time,  in  all  likelihood,  in  the  picturesque  Bedford 
Jail  built  upon  the  gray  stone  bridge  whose  three  arches 
so  gracefully  overpass  the  river  Ouse  and  are  so  serenely 
reflected  in  those  quiet  waters.  We  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  Bunyan's  condition  here  was  hard  enough  to 
satisfy  any  of  his  friends.  And  here  •'  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
was  begun.  Bunyan  tells  us,  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
which  deals  with  all  the  experiences  of  the  Delectable 
Mountains  and  with  their  kind  shepherds,  that  he  awoke 
from  his  dream  and  then  did  sleep  and  dream  again. 
This  his  biographers  believe  betokens  his  release  from  his 
third  and  last  imprisonment.  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  was 
finished,  therefore,  when  the  author  was  at  liberty. 

He  professes  himself  to  be  wholly  unindebted  for  the 
scheme  and  suggestions  of  his  greatest  allegory.  Stu- 
dents of  English  literature  have  hesitated  to  take  him 


230      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

literally  at  his  word  and  have  sought  in  all  directions 
sources  from  which  he  might  have  drawn  suggestion  or 
inspiration.  Such  sources  are  not  wanting,  but  it  is  not 
easy  to  prove  that  Bunyan  could  ever  have  known  them 
or  have  been  influenced  by  them.  There  is  real  kinship 
between  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  the  morality  plays  of 
the  Middle  Ages ;  they  too  loved  the  personification  of 
qualities  and  surrounded  their  actors,  as  they  fared  forth, 
with  the  incarnate  fortunes,  vicissitudes  and  solicitations 
of  this  earthly  life.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe,  how- 
ever, that  Bunyan  could  have  been  acquainted  with  them  ; 
almost  every  reason  to  believe  he  could  not  have  known 
them,  except  indeed  as  they  were  part  of  the  broken 
traditions,  the  homely  memory  of  the  soil  from  which  he 
sprang.  "  Piers  Plowman  "  is  the  record  of  a  quest, "  The 
Faerie  Queen  "  an  allegory,  and  there  is  a  P>ench  allegory, 
— "Le  Pelerinage  de  I'Homme" — "The  Pilgrimage  of 
Man  " — which  might  well  have  given  Bunyan  his  point  of 
departure  were  there  any  available  testimony  that  he  had 
even  so  much  as  heard  of  it.  We  must  find,  as  has  al- 
ready been  indicated,  the  genesis  of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
in  Bunyan's  life  and  genius.  There  is  more  initiative  in 
the  world  than  we  in  our  own  time,  occupied  as  we  are 
with  tracing  the  derivations  and  relationships  of  things, 
are  willing  to  admit.  We  have  not  come  so  far  as  this  in 
these  studies  without  seeing  how  central  the  quest  for 
peace  and  security  is  and  in  how  many  guises  that  quest 
has  been  pursued  ;  what  is  most  distinctive  in  Bunyan's 
work  is  rooted  in  Calvinistic  Protestantism  and  needs  no 
other  explanation  than  the  faith  in  which  it  was  nurtured 
and  his  own  searching  experiences. 

Richard  Heath  argues  most  suggestively  for  the  rooting 
of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  in  Anabaptist  soil.     We  owe  to 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        231 

Anabaptism,  he  contends,  not  only  the  deep  creative 
forces  which  made  both  Bunyan  and  his  book,  but  many 
characteristics  of  the  book  itself.  Bunyan  must,  he  says, 
have  drawn  in  Anabaptist  memories  and  traditions  with 
his  mother's  milk.  How  these  memories  and  traditions 
wove  themselves  into  the  fabric  of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
Mr.  Heath  goes  on  to  make  clear.*  The  dramatic  incident 
of  Christian  setting  out  running,  leaving  wife  and  children 
behind,  may  be  parallelled  in  the  records  of  the  Anabaptist 
historians.  Hans  Ber,  for  example,  of  Alten-Erlangen, 
rises  from  his  bed  in  the  night  and  begins  to  dress. 
"Where  art  thou  going?"  asks  his  wife,  stirring  at  his 
side.  ♦•  I  know  not ;  God  knows,"  is  the  answer.  "  What 
have  I  done  to  grieve  thee  ?  "  his  wife  protests.  "  Dear 
wife,"  he  answers,  "  leave  me  unburdened  by  earthly 
things.  God  bless  thee  !  I  will  henceforth  know  and  do 
the  will  of  God."  So  he  sets  out.  Not  a  little  of 
Christian's  experience  might  almost  be  the  transcription 
of  Anabaptist  records.  They,  too,  had  houses  of  ref- 
uge, houses  beautiful,  where  the  fugitive,  fleeing  it  may 
be  from  the  Tyrol  to  Moravia  or  to  England,  would  be 
admitted  when  he  had  given  the  proper  sign  and  there  be 
sheltered  from  his  foes.  These  houses  were  really  stations 
on  a  kind  of  underground  railroad,  the  whole  made  neces- 
sary by  the  constant  peril  in  which  the  Anabaptist  dwelt. 
There  were  Moravian  orphanages  where  children  were 
received  and  cared  for  as  were  the  children  of  Christiana's 
daughters  in  the  house  in  the  meadow  by  the  riverside, 
"  built  for  the  nourishing  and  bringing  up  of  those  lambs, 
the  babes  of  those  women  who  go  on  pilgrimages."  The 
prototype  of  Great-heart  is  to  be  found  again  and  again 
in  these  same  records  for  there  were  many  whose  business 

*  Contemporary  Review,  October,  1 896. 


232      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

it  was  to  lead  Anabaptist  fugitives  by  unfrequented 
roads,  across  lonely  and  remote  mountain  passes,  fight  for 
them  when  they  were  assailed,  and  bring  them  in  safety 
to  the  end  of  their  journey.  The  experience  of  Christian 
and  Faithful  at  Vanity  Fair  was  a  story  so  bitterly  old  in 
the  annals  of  Anabaptist  persecution  that  even  the  kind 
and  patient  stars  must  have  grown  weary  of  looking  down 
upon  its  repetition.  The  indictment  which  is  brought 
against  Faithful  is  just  such  an  indictment  as  had  been 
brought  again  and  again  against  the  dreamers  and  fanatics 
of  a  century  before  who  showed  so  little  respect  for  the 
honours,  titles  and  privileges  of  this  present  world  and 
were  so  disconcerting  in  their  judgments  upon  it. 

No  one  who  has  sought  from  other  sources  to  sense 
the  significance  of  the  Anabaptist  movement  will  fail  to 
feel  the  force  of  Mr.  Heath's  contentions.  The  recital 
of  all  this  as  John  Bunyan  may  well  have  heard  it,  going 
up  and  down  the  eastern  counties,  would  indeed  kindle 
his  imagination,  afford  him  material  and  all  unconsciously 
give  real  direction  to  his  recital  of  the  fortunes  of  Chris- 
tian and  Christiana.  There  is  no  proving  it,  however, 
just  as  there  is  no  disproving  it.  One  may  only  balance 
probabilities  and  adjust  his  conclusions  correspondingly. 
If  we  really  widen  all  this,  if  we  say  that  Bunyan  was  con- 
trolled as  he  must  have  been  controlled  by  the  dominant 
interpretations  of  the  Christian  experience  as  he  and  his 
friends  knew  that  experience,  if  we  recognize  that  Protest- 
antism in  its  more  unworldly,  radical  and  hard- tried  forms 
constituted  not  only  the  soil  in  which  Bunyan  was  rooted, 
but  the  air  which  he  breathed  and  the  light  which  he  fol- 
lowed, we  shall  be  able  to  find  a  place  among  the  forces 
which  shaped  his  life  for  such  influences  as  these  and  still 
recognize  the  rare  creative  originality  of  the  man's  genius. 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        233 

"Pilgrim's  Progress  "  would  not  be  "  Pilgrim's  Progress" 
if  it  were  not  the  expression  of  so  much  which  is  common 
not  only  to  the  Puritanism  which  begot  it,  but  to  the  age- 
old  experiences  of  all  the  ardent  and  aspiring.  Nor 
would  the  book  be  what  it  is  if  Bunyan  had  not  given 
it  the  form  to  which  he  was  impelled  by  his  own  temper 
and  set  the  mark  of  his  distinctive  genius  upon  it. 

So  much  has  already  been  said  about  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress "  as  to  leave  little  need  for  its  more  detailed  consid- 
eration. There  would  have  been  no  need  a  generation 
ago  to  tell  its  story  or  dwell  upon  its  characters.  The 
men  and  women  of  an  earlier  time  knew  it  as  they  knew 
their  Bible,  children  dreamed  over  its  pages,  men  and 
women  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  turned  to  it  for  a  heart- 
ening sense  of  comradeship,  and  fought  still  more  bravely 
in  that  they  knew  they  did  not  fight  alone.  Saints 
whose  warfare  was  well-nigh  finished  looked  up  from  its 
pages  which  they  saw  but  dimly  (though  indeed  those 
same  pages  were  often  printed  in  fair,  large  type  for  their 
especial  comfort)  to  see  in  the  western  sky  towards  which 
they  looked  the  shining  of  the  Celestial  City.  We  do 
not  know  it  to-day  as  did  our  fathers,  but  in  all  likelihood 
most  of  us  know  it  so  well  that  any  paraphrase  would  be 
an  unnecessary  impertinence. 

It  opens  with  a  note  of  intensity,  with  the  picture  of 
one  weeping  and  trembling  and  crying,  *♦  What  shall  I 
do  ?  "  So  deeply,  one  may  say  in  passing,  was  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  coloured  by  Bunyan's  knowledge  of  the  Bible 
that  there  are  in  that  first  paragraph  six  clear  references 
to  the  Old  or  New  Testament ;  hardly  a  sentence  without 
some  fibre  or  other  rooted  in  the  Bible.  It  is  Christian 
who  is  thus  borne  upon ;  Evangelist  answers  his  cry  and 
points  him  the  road  to  safety.     Thereupon  he  sets  out 


234      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Now  this  road  runs  straight  from  the  City  of  Destruction 
to  the  Celestial  City,  a  narrow  way  from  which  Christian 
always  wandered  at  his  peril.  The  whole  narrative  sug- 
gests none  the  less  an  amplitude  of  movement.  We 
think  of  Christian  as  coming  and  going  over  wide  terri- 
tories. Life  is  always  like  that ;  a  strange  interweaving 
of  fundamental  narrowness  and  intensities  with  that  pas- 
sion of  the  soul  which  makes  earth  and  sky  the  place  of  its 
proper  habitation.  Here  is  the  first  wonder  of  the  book 
itself.  The  Pilgrim  goes  a  straight  and  narrow  road,  yet 
always  in  an  atmosphere  of  latitude  and  inclusion.  Chris- 
tian sets  out  alone ;  he  cannot  persuade  his  neighbours 
nor  move  his  wife  and  children.  His  wife  cries  after  him 
only  to  ask  him  to  return ;  his  neighbours  follow  him 
only  to  persuade  him  to  go  back  with  them. 

Everything  is  vivid  beyond  belief  and  unbelievably 
apt.  The  allegory  is  never  forced ;  it  could  not  be  other 
than  it  is.  Of  course  the  Slough  of  Despond  has  swal- 
lowed up  at  least  twenty  thousand  cart  loads  of  wholesome 
instruction ;  there  are  states  of  the  soul  in  which  exhor- 
tation is  but  added  material  for  hopeless  confusion.  This 
sure  touch  never  fails  from  beginning  to  end.  Bunyan 
does  not  always  place  his  emphasis  where  a  later  time 
would  have  put  it.  He  dismisses  the  falling  of  Christian's 
burden  before  the  cross  and  the  sepulchre  almost  in  a 
single  paragraph ;  the  whole  incident  in  about  a  page. 
He  makes  no  attempt  to  enlarge  upon  the  doctrinal  im- 
plications of  it  all.  As  Christian  comes  up  with  the  cross 
his  burden  looses  from  his  shoulders,  falls  from  his  back 
and  tumbles  into  the  mouth  of  the  sepulchre.  Just  that 
and  nothing  more.  This  is  the  testimony  of  a  man  who 
cared  more  for  vital  experiences  than  for  theology ;  this 
is  John  Bunyan  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of"  Pil- 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        235 

grim's  Progress."  He  works  with  the  utmost  restraint, 
but  creates  characters  which  are  imperishable.  He  uses 
the  phraseology  of  his  time,  his  station  and  his  race,  but 
he  accomplishes  the  universal. 

There  would  be  no  end  to  naming  the  characters  which 
throng  these  pages.  Here  are  Simple,  Sloth  and  Pre- 
sumption, asleep  in  their  chains.  Here  are  Formalist 
and  Hypocrisy,  most  ancient  comrades ;  Timorous  and 
Mistrust,  friends  since  the  mornmg  of  time;  Faithful, 
Hopeful,  Evangelist,  Save-all,  Want-the-world,  Money- 
love,  Bye-ends.  Very  hkely  Bunyan  had  met  them  all  in 
the  flesh,  seizing  out  of  each  man  as  he  came  and  went  in 
his  tinkering  the  essential  heart  of  him,  elevating  his  domi- 
nant characteristics  into  a  deathless  incarnation.  This 
is  always  the  quality  of  the  great  artists.  So  Hogarth 
draws  for  us  the  very  heart  of  the  eighteenth  century 
England,  Albert  DUrer  makes  mediaeval  Germany  im- 
perishable in  the  very  moment  of  its  decay,  or  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi  sees  in  every  Florentine  face  some  meaning  for  his 
canvass. 

"  I'd  like  his  face  — 
His,  elbowing  on  his  comrade  in  the  door 
With  the  pike  and  lantern, — for  the  slave  that  holds 
John  Baptist's  head  a-dangle  by  the  hair 
With  one  hand  ('  Look  you,  now,*  as  who  should  say) 
And  his  weapon  in  the  other,  yet  un wiped  ! " 

Bunyan  found  what  he  sought,  not  in  men's  faces,  but 
in  their  souls.  His  dealings  with  men  after  his  con- 
version would  give  him  opportunities  for  great  insight 
into  their  possible  attitudes  towards  what  had  come  to  be 
for  him  the  master  concern  of  life.  It  is  no  unwarranted 
exercise  of  the  imagination  to  think  of  Bunyan  as  he 
went  about  his  business  always  urging  upon  others  the 
supreme  concerns  of  religion  and  more  than  that,  of  a 


236      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

religion  which  offered  them  persecution,  contumely  or 
exile  as  their  earthly  portion.  Men  always  reveal  them- 
selves when  they  are  brought  face  to  face  with  supreme 
and  elemental  things.  Bunyan  knew  them  by  their  an- 
swers. Timorous,  Mistrust,  Save-all,  Money-love,  Vain- 
confidence,  Watchful,  Sincere,  Faint-heart  are  all  his 
neighbours  to  begin  with.  He  would  never  have  made 
them  live  upon  his  pages  had  he  not  possessed  the  genius 
to  find  them,  first  of  all,  abroad  in  England.  This  is  in 
some  part  the  explanation  of  all  that  homely  reality 
which  underruns  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  What  Bunyan 
did  not  furnish  out  of  his  own  experience  he  seized  out 
of  the  experience  of  others.  For  all  the  scenery  in 
the  book  Pilgrim  might  well  have  travelled  through 
the  English  Midlands.  When  Bunyan,  who  had  never 
seen  a  mountain  in  his  life,  would  fill  the  further  stages 
of  Christian's  journey  with  the  Delectable  Mountains  he 
goes  to  the  Scriptures  for  his  description  and  lifts  the 
purple  summits  of  those  unchanging  ranges  of  fruition 
and  hope  out  of  what  his  imagination  conceived  the 
nature  of  Emanuel's  Land  to  be.  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
does  not  lend  itself  to  the  unbridled  imagination  of 
illustrators,  because  the  book  with  all  its  marvel  of  im- 
agination is  so  unfailingly  established  in  Bunyan's  own 
homely  experiences.  This  is  the  reason  why  Charles 
Burnett's  illustrations  are  by  far  the  best  ever  done.  His 
men  and  women  are  English  men  and  women,  clothed 
and  ordered  in  the  fashion  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
They  come  out  of  the  pages  to  meet  us,  they  are  so  real. 
And  you  are  constantly  finding  in  them  haunting  sug- 
gestions of  the  man  whom  you  met  yesterday  or  the  face 
which  you  passed  on  the  street. 

Bunyan's  touch  rarely  fails.     He  is  surest  as  he  rein- 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        237 

carnates  the  faults  and  failures  of  life  in  characters  which, 
to  repeat,  he  names  after  the  quality  suggested  and  where 
he  gives  us  the  quahty  unrelieved,  unqualified,  unshaded. 
For  the  most  part  every  word  which  he  puts  into  their 
mouths  has  an  inevitable  kind  of  fitness.  If  they  speak 
only  a  sentence,  that  sentence  is  profoundly  revealing 
and  wholly  consistent.  Take  for  example  the  speech  of 
the  jurymen  at  Vanity  Fair  among  themselves.  There 
is,  to  begin  with,  the  marvellous  genius  of  their  impanel- 
ing. Who  but  Bunyan  could  have  brought  together  in 
the  jury  box  to  try  Faithful  Mr.  Blind-man,  Mr.  No-good, 
Mr.  Mahce,  Mr.  Love-lust,  Mr.  Live-loose,  Mr.  Heady, 
Mr.  High-mind,  Mr.  Enmity,  Mr.  Liar,  Mr.  Cruelty,  Mr. 
Hate-light  and  Mr.  Implacable?  And  who  but  Bunyan 
could  have  put  into  their  mouths  those  inevitable  words 
which  make  the  whole  scene  live  before  us  and  secure,  in 
one  short  paragraph,  not  only  the  quality  of  a  drawing 
of  Hogarth's,  but  an  unrivaled  analysis  of  the  perverted 
possibilities  of  these  hearts  of  ours?  " '  I  see,'  says  Mr. 
Blind-man,  the  foreman,  *  I  see  clearly  that  this  man  is 
a  heretic'  Then  said  Mr.  No-good,  *  Away  with  such  a 
fellow  from  the  earth.'  *  Ay,'  said  Mr.  Malice,  '  for  I 
hate  the  very  looks  of  him.'     Then  said  Mr.  Love-lust, 

*  I  could  never  endure  him.'  '  Nor  I,'  said  Mr.  Live- 
loose,  '  for  he  would  always  be  condemning  my  way.' 

*  Hang  him,  hang  him,*  said  Mr.  Heady.  *  A  sorry  scrub,' 
said  Mr.  High-mind.     *  He  is  a  rogue,'  said  Mr.  Liar. 

*  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him,'  said  Mr.  Cruelty.  *  Let 
us  despatch  him  out  of  the  way,'  said  Mr.  Hate-light." 

It  was  surely  out  of  the  memory  of  his  own  inner  strife 
that  Bunyan  wrote  the  story  of  Christian's  battle  in  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow.  There  is  a  sad  kind  of  comfort 
in  recognizing  that  he  now  sees  the  grievous  blasphemies, 


238      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

whisperingly  suggested  to  Christian  as  he  came  over 
against  the  mouth  of  the  burning  pit,  to  be  but  one  more 
device  of  the  evil  one.  If  Bunyan  could  have  known 
that  earher  in  his  own  life,  it  would  have  saved  him  much 
agony  of  soul.  One  has  but  to  turn  the  pages  and  the 
scenes  stand  out.  Vanity  Fair  with  its  booths  and  its 
merchandise,  its  strange  traffickings,  its  bitter  spirit.  By- 
path Meadow  with  its  way  of  delusion  beginning  ever  so 
gently  and  following  the  winding  of  the  quiet  waters. 
Doubting  Castle  with  its  dungeons,  which  might  well 
have  been  suggested  to  Bunyan  by  the  tales  of  old 
imprisonments  of  the  Anabaptists  in  the  heartless  for- 
tresses of  Europe,  where  Christian  and  Hopeful  lay  in  a 
very  dark  dungeon,  nasty  and  stinking,  while  Giant 
Despair  and  his  wife  once  gone  to  bed  talked  together  in 
that  homely  intimacy  which  is  one  of  the  imperishable 
traditions  of  all  good  English  literature.  The  long  con- 
versations with  which  the  pilgrims  hearten  themselves 
when  the  stages  are  weary  are  not  always  wholly  edify- 
ing, but  they  witness  at  least  to  the  amount  of  theological 
discussion  which  must  have  been  abroad  among  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  people,  especially  the  common  people 
in  John  Bunyan's  time,  and  the  perfect  saturation  of  his 
mind  and  his  soul  with  the  speech  and  teaching  of  the 
Bible. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  journey  a  new  light  begins  to 
fall  across  the  pilgrims'  road.  Beulah  Land  is  musical 
and  fragrant ;  the  glories  of  the  Celestial  City  are  there  so 
much  in  evidence  that  the  pilgrims  fall  sick  of  longing. 
Orchards,  vineyards  and  gardens  with  hospitable,  opened 
gates  are  all  along  the  road.  With  an  wholly  infallible 
dramatic  instinct  Bunyan  brings  the  pilgrims  face  to  face 
with  the  River  of  Death  almost  without  warning.     They 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        239 

have  been  loitering  through  the  gardens  of  Beulah  Land 
and  suddenly  the  river  is  at  their  feet.  There  is  no 
bridge  and  the  river  is  deep.  No  need  to  tell  how  they 
take  to  those  cold  waters  or  how  hard  Christian  found  it 
to  get  ground  beneath  his  feet.  He  was  in  the  way  of 
sinking  without  Hopeful  and  he  battles  against  the  numb- 
ing flood,  fighting  within  and  fears  without.  In  the  end 
he  is  delivered  by  virtue  of  the  promises.  Once  he  finds 
himself  the  rest  of  the  river  is  but  shallow. 

In  the  pages  with  which  the  allegory  ends  Bunyan 
voices  anew  the  quenchless  longing  of  men  for  the  rest  and 
beauty  of  the  City  of  God.  He  never  could  have  sung 
the  praises  of  that  City  as  Bernard  of  Cluny  sang  them, 
but  his  prose  becomes  lyric  as  he  climbs  in  imagination 
with  the  two  who  mount  so  swiftly  towards  the  Town 
above  the  clouds.  The  blare  of  the  trumpets  with  which 
Christian  and  his  fellows  are  saluted  and  all  the  hearten- 
ing splendour  of  the  sights  and  sounds  which  greet  them 
are  but  Bunyan's  anticipation  of  the  triumph  which  they 
were  to  earn  who,  at  such  sore  cost,  had  finished  their 
course  and  kept  the  faith.  Surely  it  must  have  been 
such  hopes  as  these  which  held  men  steadfast  in  the 
bitter  agony  of  long-drawn  persecution  and  taught  them 
to  count  the  world  well  lost  if  so  be  they  might  pass 
through  the  gates  into  the  City. 

It  is  the  custom  to  dismiss  the  second  part  of  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  as  a  kind  of  after-thought,  made  possible  and 
necessary  by  the  unexpected  success  of  the  book.  That, 
on  the  whole,  is  not  fair.  Something  of  Bunyan's  power 
of  getting  the  picture  out  with  the  fewest  possible  number 
of  pen  strokes  does  indeed  fail  him  here,  but  his  invention 
is  remarkably  sustained  and  clean  to  the  end.  We  never 
could  have  forgiven  his  leaving  Christiana  and  the  chil- 


240      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

dren  in  the  City  of  Destruction.  Charity's  justification 
of  such  a  procedure  does  not  carry  conviction.  Bunyan 
is  far  enough  from  those  conceptions  of  human  solidarity 
which  govern  us  to-day,  but  even  he  saw  that  for  a  man 
to  achieve  his  own  salvation  while  his  wife  and  children 
are  in  the  way  of  being  lost  is  a  doubtful  accomplishment. 
So  Bunyan  brings  Christiana  and  the  children  over  a 
road,  almost  every  step  of  which  her  husband  has  made 
famous,  not  primarily,  let  us  hope,  because  he  sought  to 
expand  his  allegory,  but  because  he  could  not  let 
Christiana  and  her  little  ones  dwell  any  longer  in  the 
City  of  Destruction. 

We  should  be  in  debt  to  Bunyan  for  the  wonderful 
pictures  with  which  the  second  part  of  his  story  closes 
if  for  nothing  else.  Nowhere  in  all  his  work  has  he 
written  so  nobly  and  yet  withal  so  simply.  Here  the 
awesome  sense  of  the  eternal  subdues  and  possesses  words 
which  any  child  may  understand,  sentences  so  simple 
that  wise  men  would  have  been  ashamed  to  write  them. 
When  the  word  has  come  for  Christiana  she  gathers  her 
friends  about  her  and  to  them,  one  by  one,  she  gives  her 
last  counsels.  "  Then  she  called  for  old  Mr.  Honest,  and 
said  of  him,  •  Behold  an  Israehte  indeed,  in  whom  is  no 
guile.'  Then  said  he, '  I  wish  you  a  fair  day,  when  you 
set  out  for  Mount  Zion,  and  shall  be  glad  to  see  that  you 
go  over  the  river  dry-shod.'  But  she  answered,  *  Come 
wet,  come  dry,  I  long  to  be  gone;  for,  however  the 
weather  is  in  my  journey,  I  shall  have  time  enough, 
when  I  come  there,  to  sit  down  and  rest  me,  and  dry 
me.'  " 

Her  farewells  spoken,  she  goes  down  towards  the  river 
and  the  fashion  of  her  passing  will  not  be  forgotten. 
"  Now  the  day  drew  on  that  Christiana  must  be  gone. 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        241 

So  the  road  was  full  of  people  to  see  her  take  the  journey. 
But  behold,  all  the  banks  beyond  the  river  were  full  of 
horses  and  chariots,  which  were  come  down  from  above 
to  accompany  her  to  the  City-gate.  So  she  came  forth, 
and  entered  the  river,  with  a  beckon  of  farewell  to  those 
that  followed  her  to  the  riverside.  The  last  words  that 
she  was  heard  to  say  were, '  I  come.  Lord,  to  be  with 
Thee,  and  bless  Thee,'  " 

One  by  one  the  messengers  come  for  those  whom  she 
left  behind.  Mr.  Ready-to-halt  leaves  his  crutches. 
'•  Now  I  shall  have  no  more  need  of  these  crutches,  since 
yonder  are  chariots  and  horses  for  me  to  ride  on."  Mr. 
Despondency  and  his  daughter  Much-afraid  pass  in 
their  turn  through  waters  which  are  strangely  kind  to 
them,  the  daughter  singing  as  she  crosses.  At  the  day 
of  Mr.  Honest's  departure  the  river  has  overflowed  its 
banks,  but  Good-conscience  meets  him  and  lends  him  a 
hand  and  so  helps  him  over.  At  the  crossing  of  Mr. 
VaHant-for-truth  the  music  of  Bunyan's  sentences  is  like 
the  call  of  a  trumpet.  "  After  this  it  was  noised  abroad 
that  Mr.  Valiant-for-truth  was  taken  with  a  summons  by 
the  same  post  as  the  other ;  and  had  this  for  a  token  that 
the  summons  was  true,  that  *  his  pitcher  was  broken  at 
the  fountain.'  When  he  understood  it,  he  called  for  his 
friends,  and  told  them  of  it.  Then  said  he,  '  I  am  going 
to  my  Father's ;  and  though  with  great  difficulty  I  got 
hither,  yet  now  I  do  not  repent  me  of  all  the  trouble  I 
have  been  at  to  arrive  where  I  am.  My  sword  I  give  to 
him  that  shall  succeed  me  in  my  pilgrimage,  and  my 
courage  and  skill  to  him  that  can  get  it.  My  marks  and 
scars  I  carry  with  me,  to  be  a  witness  for  me,  that  I  have 
fought  His  battle,  who  now  will  be  my  Rewarder.'  When 
the  day  that  he  must  go  hence  was  come,  many  accom- 


242      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

panied  him  to  the  riverside,  into  which  as  he  went  he 
said, '  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ? '  and  as  he  went  down 
deeper,  he  said,  *  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  '  So  he 
passed  over,  and  all  the  trumpets  sounded  for  him  on  the 
other  side." 

Many  qualities  conspire  to  produce  such  effects  as 
these :  the  dominant  sense  of  the  Unseen  and  Eternal, 
a  confidence  in  immortality  absolutely  untouched  by  any 
suspicion  of  doubt,  the  moving  passion  of  the  poet,  a 
great  knowledge  of  the  hearts  of  men.  Bunyan  must 
have  sat  by  many  death-beds  to  have  been  so  taught  the 
fashions,  often  unexpected,  in  which  men  meet  death. 
Beyond  all  this  there  was,  of  course,  the  persuasion  com- 
mon to  Bunyan  and  all  his  friends  that  the  life  which  now 
is  is  but  the  unhappy  and  troubled  anticipation  of  the  life 
which  is  to  come.  No  one  of  Bunyan's  pilgrims  has  ever 
learnt  in  whatsoever  state  he  is  therein  to  be  content. 
They  are  always  anticipating;  nothing  matters  but  the 
end.  They  are  in  a  desperate  haste  to  be  done  with  time, 
for  to  them  time  is  meaningless  save  as  the  condition  of 
entering  into  the  eternal.  Much  of  course  was  lost  by 
this  postponement  of  the  real  value  of  life.  Life  is,  after 
all,  a  seamless  robe ;  we  begin  to  live  when  we  begin  to 
live,  and  if  we  do  not  find  life's  compensations  in  the  very 
pilgrimage  upon  which  we  set  out  to  discover  them  we 
shall  never  find  them  when  the  pilgrimage  is  done. 

So  much  at  least  is  true  but  it  is  not  easy  to  make  a 
dramatic  story  out  of  it.  The  very  conception  of  the  pil- 
grimage exalts  the  goal ;  the  dramatic  moment  in  any 
pilgrimage  is  when  the  goal  is  approached.  Here  Bun- 
yan does  but  voice  passions,  convictions,  aspirations  as 
old  as  life  and  deep  as  sorrow.  Men  have  always  lifted 
the  perfectness  of  the  eternal  over  against  the  incomple- 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS        243 

tions  of  life.  Fields  of  asphodel,  shining  meadows,  halls 
of  heroes,  cities  with  streets  of  gold,  and  living  waters  have 
called  the  troubled  sons  of  time  since  the  dawn  of  the 
first  troubled  morning.  In  such  regions  as  these,  then, 
Bunyan  is  only  one  more  of  an  almost  innumerable  fel- 
lowship, but  surely  no  one  has  ever  made  the  crossing  of 
the  river  so  real  or  so  reported  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
celestial  places  as  this  English  tinker  who,  speaking  out 
of  the  sad  sincerity  of  his  own  soul,  has  spoken  for  us  all. 
For  this  is,  indeed,  the  supreme  service  of"  Pilgrim's 
Progress."  We  have  called  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  "  the 
plain  man's  book  of  mysticism,  but  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
is  something  more  than  that:  it  is  every  man's  book  of 
life.  Its  country  is  such  as  we  all  pass  through ;  its  citi- 
zens are  such  as  we  all  know.  The  mystics  often  made 
their  charts  and  marked  thereupon  the  stages  of  their 
quest  and  there,  indeed,  we  do  read  our  own  experiences, 
but  as  in  a  glass  darkly.  In  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  we  see 
them  face  to  face.  It  has  its  theological  bases,  its  doc- 
trinal assumptions,  but  they  do  not,  we  feel  instinctively, 
largely  matter.  Much  of  that  which  is  set  down  in  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress  "  either  for  reproof  or  instruction  might 
be  taken  away  with  no  great  loss,  but  the  deep  continuous 
things  in  it  are  a  part  of  the  structure  and  testimony  of  life 
itself.  It  is  this  profound  elemental  kind  of  veracity 
which  has  secured  and  will  secure  its  dominion  for  the 
book.  In  this  recital  what  is  of  the  very  essence  of  the 
quest,  that  without  which  there  would  be  no  quest,  is  set 
forth  in  moving  simplicity  and  breathing  earnestness.  I 
for  my  part  am  proud  enough  that  English-speaking 
Puritanism  begot  such  a  book  as  this.  It  is  one  more 
clear  testimony  to  what  has  been  urged  so  often  in  these 
studies:  Protestantism  is  no  negative  but  a  mightily  posi- 


244      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

tive  force.  It  possesses  a  vaster  catholicity  than  its 
friends  commonly  claim  or  its  foes  allow,  and  its  strength  is 
not  where  we  have  too  often  sought  it.  Protestantism  is 
neither  a  body  of  divinity  nor  a  method  of  church  organi- 
zation :  it  is  a  quest,  a  divinely  commissioned  spiritual 
adventure,  a  pilgrimage — the  search  after  God.  In  this 
its  devout  and  aspiring  souls  are  comrades  of  devout  and 
aspiring  souls  everywhere  and  always,  and  are  so  to  be 
considered. 

The  Latin  Catholic  Church  has  been  unspeakably  rich 
in  manifold  types  of  piety.  She  is  the  mother  of  a  won- 
derful devotional  Hterature  and  her  sons  and  daughters 
have  recorded  their  spiritual  experiences  in  pages  of  con- 
fession and  self-analysis  which  offer  to  the  student  of  the 
varieties  of  religious  experience  an  endless  field  for  illus- 
tration, rich  in  kindHng  suggestions,  but  it  was  left  to  a 
man  who  won  his  lonely  way  from  darkness  to  light  to 
have  spoken  as  the  mystics  could  never  speak,  and  to 
have  done  for  the  struggling  and  unhappy  what  no  cal- 
endared saint  has  ever  done.  The  testimony  of  our  own 
experiences  vahdates  all  this.  We  know  how  true  it  all 
is  for  we  have  gone  that  way  ourselves ;  we  have  had  our 
sloughs  of  despond,  our  hills  of  difficulty,  our  valleys  of 
humiliation,  our  castles  of  despair,  our  delectable  moun- 
tains yielding  far  visions  as  we  renewed  the  stages  of  our 
own  pilgrimage.  In  reading  "  Pilgrim's  Progress "  all 
that  is  within  us  acknowledges  the  truth  of  Bunyan's  in- 
terpretations. We  not  only  hail  him  as  master  of  words, 
seer  of  visions  and  regnant  in  the  realm  of  spiritual  imagina- 
tion ;  we  know  him  as  one  who  sought  and  struggled  and 
attained,  and  so  we  reach  our  hands  across  the  years  and 
hail  him  brother. 


VI 
Newman's  Apologia 

"  T^ILGRIM'S  PROGRESS"  is  the  classic  example 
1--^  of  a  lonely  spiritual  adventure.  All  those  in- 
JL  fluences  which  at  once  taught  men  to  conceive 
life  as  an  individual  endeavour  after  salvation  and  com- 
mitted them  to  such  a  pilgrimage  culminated  in  this  book. 
Bunyan  seems,  singled  out  by  his  relation  to  the  Reforma- 
tory movements,  to  the  more  solitary  aspects  of  all  that 
which  was  most  individual  in  the  Reformation,  and  by 
the  disciplines  of  Bedford  Jail  itself,  to  portray  their 
experiences,  who,  with  no  guide  but  the  Bible,  no  com- 
radeship but  the  high-engendered  qualities  of  their  own 
souls,  no  confidence  but  Christ,  and  no  Hght  but  the 
light  of  the  spirit  of  God  seen,  as  Socrates  would  say,  by 
the  eye  of  the  soul,  set  out  along  perilous  and  difficult 
roads  to  escape  the  City  of  Destruction  and  to  come  to 
the  Celestial  City.  The  very  book  itself  bears  witneiis  to 
the  difficulty  of  the  pilgrimage.  There  are  many  who 
fall  by  the  way;  many  who  have  not  even  grace  and 
courage  enough  to  set  out.  The  weariness  of  the  road 
taxes  all  the  pilgrim's  strength,  its  uncertainties  baffle  and 
perplex  him,  its  battles  are  more  than  any  coward  can 
face  and  all  that  a  brave  man  can  fight  through,  its  hills 
of  difficulty  must  be  taken  panting  for  breath,  its  castles 
of  despair  have  thick  walls  and  heavy-hinged  gates,  its 
cities  of  seduction  are  hard  to  come  by,  and  the  river  at 
the  end  of  it  is  all  that  a  man  can  ford.     It  takes  a  man's 

245 


246      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

whole  life  to  make  a  pilgrimage  like  that;  he  has  no 
time  or  strength  for  anything  beside.  It  is  true  enough 
that,  in  the  end,  Bunyan's  weak  and  halting  do  get  across 
the  river,  and  some  of  them  in  great  state;  yet  he  sum- 
mons lesser,  weaker  spirits  to  such  an  undertaking  that 
one  does  not  wonder  either  at  their  reluctance  to  set  out 
or  at  their  falling  by  the  way. 

All  this  is  to  say  that  the  Reformation,  although  it  set 
men  splendidly  free  for  the  central  tasks  of  the  spiritual 
life,  nevertheless  laid  upon  them  a  heavy  enough  burden. 
Evangelical  Protestantism  has  always  been  wanting  in  any 
real  response  from  great  races  and  permanent  human 
temperaments.  It  has  always  been  selective ;  the  men 
who  have  answered  its  call  have  been  like  Pilgrim  setting 
out  from  the  City  of  Destruction ;  they  have  left  many  of 
their  neighbours  behind.  It  was  from  the  first  but  a 
question  of  time  when,  within  the  field  of  Protestantism 
itself,  such  forces  as  built  up  the  vast  brooding,  assuring 
and  directing  fabric  of  the  Catholic  Church  would  begin 
anew  to  assert  themselves,  and  serene  and  devout  souls 
craving  above  all  things  the  peace  and  shelter  of  the 
Celestial  City,  should,  through  their  sheer  sense  of  help- 
lessness, when  confronted  with  that  pilgrim  road  which 
Bunyan  plotted  and  surveyed,  seek  another  route  and 
commit  themselves  to  other  guides.  The  wonder  is  not 
that  this  temper  disclosed  itself  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
but  that  it  did  not  disclose  itself  sooner.  It  goes  without 
saying  that,  even  so,  there  are  some  things  which  are  not 
to  be  escaped.  Salvation  is  still  a  lonely  road,  and  the 
race  is  run  by  one  and  one  and  never  by  two  and  two. 
But  there  always  have  been  and  always  will  be  those  who 
lean  hard  upon  authorities,  historical  sequences,  confident 
assurances,  and  who  fight  behind  such  shelters  as  these  as 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  247 

they  can  never  fight  in  the  open.  This  brings  us  directly 
to  John  Henry  Newman.  For  he,  of  all  men  of  our 
speech,  born  and  bred  in  Protestantism,  seems  to  have 
realized  most  poignantly  the  difficulties  of  the  lonely  road, 
and  he  has  clothed  his  narration  of  the  way  in  which 
he  himself  sought  and  found  deliverance  with  such  mystic 
charm  of  utterance  and  style  as  to  make  the  experience 
itself  a  revealing  type,  and  the  story  of  it  an  English 
classic. 

John  Henry  Newman  was  born  in  Old  Broad  Street  in 
the  city  of  London  on  February  21,  180 1.  He  was  the 
eldest  of  six  children,  his  father  a  London  banker  of 
sound  English  stock,  his  mother  of  a  French  Protestant 
family  which  came  over  to  England  from  France  after  the 
revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.  The  boy  was,  from 
the  first,  a  most  delicate  instrument,  played  upon  by 
many  childish  fancies,  sensitive  to  praise  or  blame,  devout 
almost  from  the  cradle,  and  much  devoted  to  his  books. 
His  imagination  was  always  running  on  unknown  influ- 
ences, magical  powers  and  talismans.  He  was  not,  he 
says,  in  childhood  deeply  religious,  but  since  the  standards 
by  which  he  measures  himself  are  the  standards  of  that 
severe  Calvinism  which  furnished  the  spiritual  atmosphere 
of  his  boyhood,  we  may  doubt  whether  Newman  is  the 
best  witness  as  to  his  own  early  spiritual  states.  He  was 
never  converted,  in  the  searching  evangelical  definition 
of  conversion,  but  he  had  from  the  first  a  clear  sense  of 
God's  presence  which  deepened  with  the  years. 

The  world  in  which  he  lived  seems  to  have  left  little 
impression  upon  his  boyish  memories,  although  it  was  a 
day  of  turnings  and  overturnings.  The  mighty  perturba- 
tions of  the  French  Revolution  were  giving  place  to  the 
mightier   perturbations   of  the  Napoleonic  wars.      The 


248      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

French  eagles  were  ranging  from  the  North  Sea  to  the 
Pyramids,  and  during  all  his  boyhood  the  coasts  of 
England  were  piled  with  the  stuff  of  beacon  lights  whose 
quick-kindled  fires  might  at  any  time  announce  to  a 
troubled  land  that  Napoleon  had  violated  the  channel  and 
landed  on  English  shores.  Keenly  alive  as  Newman 
always  was  to  the  historical  significance  at  least  of  certain 
aspects  of  the  past,  he  never  understood  the  present. 
Boy  and  man  alike,  he  failed  to  sense  the  deeper  mean- 
ings of  the  world  which  rocked  and  changed  about  him. 
He  lived  in  his  spiritual  needs,  his  idealisms,  and  his 
interpretations  of  history  which  were  always  in  the  way 
of  widening  out  into  splendour,  and  were  always  just 
stopping  short.  He  says  himself  that  he  knew  no  period 
of  skepticism,  and  yet  he  battled  with  skepticism  all  his 
life.  The  whole  secret  of  Newman's  spiritual  experiences 
may  be  put  almost  in  a  sentence.  The  man  who  thanked 
God,  in  1845,  "  that  He  shielded  me  morally  from  what 
intellectually  might  easily  have  come  on  me :  a  general 
skepticism,"  was  driven,  although  he  rnay  never  have 
known  it,  by  a  profound  skepticism  to  take  to  the  shelter 
of  authority. 

He  did  not  go  to  a  public  school,  but  spent  eight  years 
at  a  private  school  kept  by  an  Oxford  man.  He  took 
little  part  in  the  games  of  the  boys,  although  they  made 
him  arbitrator;  and  his  Calvinism  gave  to  him"  a  solitari- 
ness of  spirit  and  a  certain  austerity  which  his  nature 
never  lost."  Yet  there  was  always  on  the  surface  a  play 
of  lighter,  brighter  things,  an  unexpected  lightness  even 
in  his  more  serious  letters  and  his  narration  of  great  spiri- 
tual crises.  He  went  up  to  Oxford  a  boy  of  fifteen  to 
become  a  commoner  at  Trinity  College.  The  university 
was  to  him  a  sacred  shrine  ;  he  approached  it  in  awe  and 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  249 

transport.  The  Oxford  which  he  knew  and  loved  was 
the  Oxford  of  Matthew  Arnold,  "  spreading  abroad  her 
gardens  to  the  moonlight,  and  whispering  from  her 
towers  the  last  enchantments  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  "  the 
home  of  lost  causes  and  impossible  loyalties,"  and  yet 
withal  such  a  shrine  of  the  human  spirit  in  its  love  of  the 
ideal  and  its  devotion  to  the  ripe  culture  of  the  ages  as 
men  have  never  built  before  nor  shall  ever  build  again. 
No  need  to  say  how  all  this  laid  hold  of  Newman's  sensi- 
tive soul,  how  Oxford  entered  into  him  or  how  he  entered 
into  Oxford.  Nothing,  in  the  end,  gives  him  more  pain 
than  his  self-imposed  exile  from  that  home  of  his  youth's 
desire  and  his  manhood's  full  orbed  spirit.  No  page  in 
the  "  Apologia  "  is  fuller  of  the  tears  of  things  than  the 
page  with  which  it  ends.  "  In  him  "  (that  is  Dr.  Ogle)  ♦'  I 
took  leave  of  my  first  college,  Trinity,  which  was  so  dear 
to  me,  and  which  held  on  its  foundations  so  many  who 
have  been  kind  to  me  both  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  all 
through  my  Oxford  life.  Trinity  had  never  been  unkind 
to  me.  There  used  to  be  much  snapdragon  growing  on 
the  walls  opposite  my  freshman's  rooms  there,  and  I  had 
for  years  taken  it  as  the  emblem  of  my  own  perpetual 
residence  even  unto  death  in  my  university.  On  the 
morning  of  the  23d  I  left  the  observatory.  I  have  never 
seen  Oxford  since,  excepting  its  spires,  as  they  are  seen 
from  the  railway."  ^ 

As  he  entered  into  residence  the  boy  was  much  im- 
pressed by  the  creature  comforts  of  the  hall  dinner,  and 
his  first  letter  home  was  of  the  earth  earthy.  "  Fish, 
flesh  and  fowl,  beautiful  salmon,  haunches  of  mutton, 
lamb,  etc.,  fine  strong  beer,  served  up  on  old  pewter 
plates    and    misshapen    earthenware    jugs.     Tell   mama 

*  "  Apologia,"  p.  263. 


250      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

there  were  gooseberry  and  apricot  pies — there  was  such  a 
profusion  that  scarcely  two  ate  of  the  same."  ' 

Newman  made  his  way  quickly;  in  i8i8  he  was 
elected  Scholar  of  Trinity,  and  three  years  later  gained 
the  Oriel  Fellowship.  In  this  he  found  for  a  while  the 
crown  of  his  ambition ;  he  wished  for  nothing  better  or 
higher  than,  in  the  words  of  the  epitaph,  **  to  live  and  die 
a  Fellow  of  Oriel." 

From  this  time  to  the  end  of  his  Oxford  connection 
and  his  change  of  communion  the  interest  in  Newman's 
life  is  almost  wholly  interior,  except  indeed  as  the  pro- 
jection of  those  interior  changes  released  forces  which  are 
still  much  in  action  and  which  have  given  a  new  quality 
to  Anglicanism.  Newman's  fellowship  guaranteed  his 
living,  and  the  then  temper  of  academic  life — now  both 
for  good  and  evil  seriously  modified  by  hard-hearted  re- 
forming commissions — gave  him  a  maximum  of  leisure 
with  a  minimum  of  responsibility.  He  naturally  took 
orders  as  those  things  are  done  in  England,  and  became 
in  turn  curate  of  St.  Clement's  and  vicar  of  St.  Mary's. 
Oriel  was,  during  Newman's  early  residence,  singularly 
rich  in  brilliant  and  stimulating  thinkers.  Under  their 
influence  the  raw  and  bashful  youth  of  1 821  became  the 
brilliant  Newman  of  1825,  whose  innate  force  so  stamped 
itself  upon  his  comrades.  He  had  only  to  choose,  so  his 
friends  thought,  the  great  prizes  of  English  preferment 
whether  in  Church  or  State,  and  they  would  be  his.  He 
never  so  much  as  heard  the  call  of  the  State.  We  know 
now  that  Newman's  supreme  interests  were  in  the  region 
of  the  spirit  and,  more  than  that,  that  the  supremest  in- 
terest was  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul.  I  do  not  say 
this  unadvisedly  or  without  the  full  recognition  of  all  the 
»  "  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  I,  p.  32. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  251 

far-reaching  implications  of  his  hfe  and  his  boundless  de- 
votion to  causes  beyond  himself,  but  none  the  less  it  is 
true,  and  the  pages  of  the  "  Apologia  "  bear  out  the  as- 
sertion. "  The  simple  question  is.  Can  I  "  (it  is  personal, 
not  whether  another,  but  can  I)  "  be  saved  in  the  English 
Church  ?  "  ' 

Certain  experiences  in  1827  and  1828 — his  own  illness  in 
1827  and  the  loss  of  a  sister  in  1828 — deepened  Newman's 
already  profound  and  tremulous  spiritual  sense.  The 
shadow  of  the  transitoriness  of  all  things  was  much  upon 
him,  and  he  began  to  seek  instinctively  those  shelters  of 
the  permanent  and  the  unchanging  for  which  his  soul  was 
always  craving.  The  church  fathers  offered  him,  as  they 
have  ever  offered  to  devout  members  of  the  Anglican 
communion,  such  stabilities  and  refuges  as  he  sought. 
Newman  possessed  always  the  quality  of  investing 
the  past  times  of  the  Church  with  an  indescribable 
charm  ;  all  that  had  been  he  saw  through  such  rever- 
ences, devotions,  hallowed  imaginations  as  clothed  the 
past  with  a  light  which  never  was  on  sea  or  land.  The 
fathers  were  the  repositories  of  a  heavenly  wisdom ;  the 
Church  of  the  early  fathers  a  paradise  of  delight.  He 
felt  his  way  into  the  better  part  of  the  mediaeval  soul ; 
there  is  nowhere  any  such  recital  of  the  ineffaceable 
charm  of  the  offices  of  the  Mediaeval  Church,  or  any  such 
exaltation  of  her  pomp  and  glory,  as  one  finds  in  New- 
man's pages.  Over  against  this  passionate,  almost  mys- 
tic delight  in  things  done,  was  a  tremendous  and  most 
sensitive  fear  of  things  doing.  All  this  is  temperamental. 
Indeed,  no  one  ventures  far  into  the  pages  of  John  Henry 
Newman,  or  strives  towards  any  just  estimate  of  the 
movement  of  the  man's  soul,  without  recognizing   di- 

*  "  Apologia,"  p.  259. 


252      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

rectly  that  the  main  interests  he  offers  are  psychological. 
No  man,  within  his  own  or  our  generation,  has  combined 
so  many  contradictory  qualities  or  so  baffles  us  by  the 
strangely  constant  inter v/eaving  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness. 

It  is  difficult  to  write  here  without  anticipating  the 
conclusions  to  which  we  are  presently  to  come,  but  one 
must  say  at  once  that  he  was  already  wofully  lacking  in 
any  real  sense  of  the  present  tense  of  the  spirit  of  God. 
That  the  spirit  of  God  could  operate  in  channels  which 
were  not  endeared  to  Newman  himself  by  all  intimate  as- 
sociations and  mystic  broodings  seemed  to  him  quite  im- 
possible ;  that  that  operative  spirit  should  lead  men  into 
entirely  new  regions  of  truth  seemed  to  him  equally  im- 
possible. Directly  I  have  said  this  I  must  qualify  it.  Is 
not  this  the  Newman  whose  essay  on  development,  to 
which  we  are  all  in  debt,  was  later  to  clarify  and  empha- 
size indispensable  principles  of  historical  criticism  ? 

Quite  true ;  but  none  the  less  Newman  from  the  first 
insisted  that  the  operative  spirit  of  God  should  confine 
itself  to  time-worn  historic  channels,  and  of  the  opera- 
tions of  the  spirit  of  God  beyond  those  channels  he  was, 
from  first  to  last,  deeply  suspicious.  Nay  more,  to  all 
such  operations  he  was,  in  his  great,  strange,  gentle  way, 
profoundly  hostile.  The  fear  of  liberaHsm  was  then, 
even  by  the  late  twenties,  much  upon  him.  It  is  easy 
to  see  now  that,  even  in  the  regions  in  which  Newman 
was  much  concerned,  liberalism  was  constructive  rather 
than  destructive  ;  that  it  has,  in  the  last  three  genera- 
tions, almost  wholly  remade  our  world  and  for  the  better  ; 
that  all  finer  things  have  been  or  are  in  the  way  of  being 
reenforced  by  it;  and  that  nothing  has  gone  down  before 
it   except  rigidities,  misconceptions,  inadequate    defini- 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  253 

tions,  and  social  and  mental  attitudes  which  made  the 
world  of  Newman's  young  manhood  a  world  in  which  no 
one  of  us  would  willingly  have  lived. 

Even  Newman's  Oxford,  beautiful  and  gracious,  was 
hoary  with  abuses.  I  suppose  what  Newman  felt  in  the 
driving  impact  of  liberalism  was  the  individualistic 
note,  the  deracinating  temper  and  a  certain  scorn  of  the 
past  which  was  bound  to  issue  in  a  vast  deal  of  superficial 
declamation  and  propaganda  and  to  tempt  men  to  throw 
out  of  the  window  what,  sooner  or  later,  would  come 
back  by  the  door.  A  great  French  thinker  once  said 
that  one  of  the  earlier  tasks  of  the  twentieth  century 
would  be  taking  out  of  the  waste-basket  many  excellent 
things  which  the  nineteenth  century  had  put  into  that 
convenient,  but  sometimes  undiscriminating  receptacle. 
I  am  not  sure  that  Newman  ever  wholly  justified  himself 
as  he  might  by  clarifying  his  own  attitude  towards 
liberalism.  He  simply  tells  us,  over  and  over  again, 
that  he  fears  and  dislikes  it.  I  am  sure  that  the  roots  of 
his  fear  must  have  been  in  some  such  soil  as  I  have  been 
trying  to  indicate.  At  any  rate,  as  many  of  his  con- 
temporaries in  Oriel  and  Oxford  went  forward  he  went 
backward.  He  began  systematically  to  read  the  Fathers 
and  to  saturate  himself  in  the  history  of  the  earlier  story 
of  the  Christian  Church.  He  came,  in  the  end,  to  have  a 
sound  strain  of  wide  though  wholly  uncritical  scholar- 
ship. Given  a  period  or  a  movement  in  which  his  soul 
found  peace,  and  everything  was  grist  that  came  to  his 
mill.  Out  of  such  readings  and  such  meditations  in  the 
face  of  rising  tides  of  liberalism,  both  in  Church  and 
State,  the  High  Church  tendencies,  of  which  Newman 
was  to  become  front  and  head,  gradually  shaped  them- 
selves.     I     confess    myself,    in    these   regions,    not    free 


254      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

enough  from  predisposing  prejudices  to  be  able  to  deal 
justly  with  Newman's  point  of  view.  Many  things 
which  he  now  began  to  urge,  and  which  he  urged  with 
deepening  intensity  to  the  end  of  his  life,  do  not  seem  to 
me  to  be  true.  He  began  with  the  assumption  that  the 
Church  was  the  guardian  of  a  deposit  of  truth,  super- 
naturally  imparted,  the  integrity  of  which  was  beyond 
the  reach  either  of  reasonable  proof  or  reasonable  denial 
— a  truth,  that  is,  above  reason ;  that  the  truth  thus  in- 
trusted to  the  Church  might  indeed  be  developed  along 
the  Hnes  of  all  its  implications,  but  neither  could  be  added 
to  nor  subtracted  from ;  and  that,  in  the  days  when  such 
truth  seemed  to  be  challenged,  such  challenges  were  to 
be  met,  not  by  proving  or  disproving  them,  but  in  test- 
ing them  by  the  deposit  of  faith  once  and  for  all  com- 
mitted to  the  Church.  To  do  this  it  was  necessary,  first 
of  all,  to  determine  what  that  deposit  was ;  and  second, 
what  the  Church  was  to  which  that  deposit  had  been 
committed  ;  for  the  guarantee  of  the  authority  of  the 
deposit  lay,  after  all,  rather  in  the  integrity  and  con- 
tinuity of  the  Church  than  even  in  the  qualities  of  the 
deposit  itself. 

To  these  two  tasks  Newman's  life  was  committed  be- 
fore he  was  thirty  years  old,  and  all  his  after  intellectual 
and  spiritual  history  becomes  reasonably  luminous  in  the 
light  which  this  twofold  and  central  endeavour  throws 
upon  all  the  movement  of  his  mind.  Because  he  be- 
lieved the  guarantee  of  the  deposit  to  be  rather  in  the 
Church  to  which  it  was  committed  than  in  its  own  ap- 
peal to  human  reason  he  was,  first  of  all,  concerned  with 
the  integrity  of  the  Church.  He  began  with  the  assump- 
tion that  the  Church  of  England  was  the  true  Church  so 
guaranteeing,  in  her  creeds,  her  liturgies,  her  catechisms 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  255 

and  her  ecclesiastical  procedures,  the  integrity  of  the 
faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  all  the  restless  liberalism  of  his  time  was  to  be  met 
by  tracing  the  authority  of  this  Church  to  its  holy  and 
ancient  sources  and  by  reestablishing,  in  the  eyes  of  all 
men  everywhere,  her  so  divinely  constituted  authority. 
This  was  the  central  endeavour  of  the  High  Church 
movement. 

It  seems,  to  the  writer  of  this  article,  that  the  real 
service  of  the  High  Church  movement,  not  only  to  the 
Anglican  Church,  but  to  all  our  religious  life,  does  not 
lie  where  Newman  sought  it.  What  he  did  for  us  all 
was  not  to  establish  the  ancient  authority  of  the 
Anglican  Church, — that  endeavour  broke  beneath  his 
hand — but  rather  to  set  the  massive  continuities  of  his- 
tory over  against  our  restlessnesses  and  our  disconnec- 
tions, and  to  correct  the  judgment  of  a  fraction  of  a  cen- 
tury by  the  judgment  of  all  the  centuries.  We  are 
needing  constantly  to  be  told  that  the  sun  did  not  first 
rise  with  our  morning,  and  as  constantly  to  be  compelled 
to  test  our  new-born  affirmations  in  the  light  of  the  long 
experiences  of  our  kind.  What  springs  out  of  the  whole 
experience  of  the  race  is  not  lightly  to  be  put  to  one 
side.  Faiths  which  have  shaped  themselves  through  the 
travail  of  the  ages,  which  have  been  gradually  built  up 
through  the  long  action  and  interaction  of  our  conscious 
past  upon  the  wonder,  the  mystery,  the  challenge,  the 
sorrow,  the  tasks  and  the  needs  of  life,  do  possess — and 
we  must  recognize  it — by  their  very  ancestry  a  validity 
which  should  give  us  pause  ere  we  disown  or  deny  them. 
The  great  central  dogmas  of  any  religion  are  the  hard- 
won  expressions  of  the  needs  and  satisfactions  of  the 
soul.     True,  the  world  does  change,  and  God  fulfills  Him- 


256      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

self  in  many  ways,  but  the  times  when  men  are  most  im- 
patient of  the  teachings  of  the  past  are  the  times  when 
they  most  need  to  take  those  teachings  into  account. 
Historical  continuities  are  to  be  used,  not  as  terminals 
beyond  which  we  must  not  pass,  but  as  sign-boards 
indicating  to  us  the  directions  in  which  truth  in  all  like- 
lihood lies ;  and  more  than  that,  the  very  forms  which 
faith  and  worship  have  built  for  themselves  may  become 
for  us  bridges  to  bear  us  over  the  void  until  we  find  our 
feet  once  more  on  solid  ground. 

This  I  conceive  to  have  been  one  great  service  of  the 
High  Church  movement  which,  widening  through  many 
channels,  has  affected  us  all  and  has  not  been  without  its 
results,  even  in  the  great  evangelical  and  non-liturgical 
communions.  As  far  as  it  has  dwelt  upon  form  it  has 
taught  us  that  form  and  faith  can  never  be  wholly  divided 
and  that,  just  as  sheltering  forests  clothe  the  uplands 
with  those  shadowed  silences  where  the  waters  are  born, 
so  noble  forms  of  worship  shelter  those  uplands  of  the 
soul  where  reverences  and  adorations  are  born.  Worship, 
indeed,  is  born  of  something  beyond  the  forms  which 
shelter  it  or  through  which  it  finds  expression.  As  the 
streams  themselves  are  born  in  the  restless  vast  of  the 
sea,  in  the  incessant  rising  of  invisible  vapours  far-sum- 
moned from  the  depths  to  become  evident  in  brooding 
mists  and  splendid  in  toppling  clouds  and  majestic  in  the 
storm,  so  worship  is  born  ofthe  soul's  sense  of  the  Unseen 
and  Eternal.  It  is  deep  answering  unto  deep ;  it  is  that 
homage  of  the  human  to  the  Divine  which  proves  their 
inseparable  kinship  and  exalts  men  in  proportion  as  they 
bow  themselves  before  God. 

Worship  will  always  fail  when  our  sense  of  the  Unseen 
and    Eternal  fails,  and   this  will  fail  without  reasonable 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  257 

proofs  and  justifications.  Without  the  mystery  of  sea 
and  sky  the  forests  will,  in  the  end,  shelter  only  pathetic 
channels  from  which  all  the  waters  have  fled ;  without 
faith  and  God,  worship  will  gradually  drain  away  from 
the  most  majestic  minster  which  ever  sought  to  simulate 
in  its  arches  the  aspirations  of  the  soul  and  in  its  windows 
the  glory  of  vision  and  desire.  But  nevertheless  what  we 
may  call  the  garmenture  of  worship  always  serves  and 
quickens  devotion,  and  in  times  of  transition  such  forms 
may  shelter  and  husband  it  until  those  clouds  of  light 
which  witness  God  begin  anew  to  form  themselves 
along  the  horizons  of  the  souls  of  men.  In  so  far 
as  the  High  Church  movement  corrected  the  excesses  of 
our  own  time  by  its  affirmations  of  a  Church  rooted  in 
the  centuries,  rising  in  newness  of  power  after  seeming 
defeats,  adjusting  itself  to  new  and  changing  conditions, 
and  gathering  men  again  and  again  and  still  again  to  its 
august  and  comforting  shelters,  so  indeed  bearing  witness 
to  the  everlasting  reality  of  religion,  the  reasonable  needs 
of  the  soul  and  that  in  which  those  needs  always  have 
been  and  always  will  be  met  and  answered,  the  services 
of  the  whole  movement  have  been  beyond  easy  estimation 
and  have  helped  us  altogether.  Here,  as  elsewhere, 
Newman's  great  power  lay  in  the  instinctive  feeling  for 
what  ought  to  be  done  ;  his  weakness  lay  in  the  mechanical 
and  limited  way  in  which  he  sought  to  define  the  agents 
by  which  the  thing  needed  should  be  done. 

Two  lines  of  action,  for  the  time  parallel,  one  of  which 
carried  him  into  the  Roman  Church,  the  other  failing  as 
the  first  led  towards  the  shadow  of  Peter's  chair,  charac- 
terized the  great  period  of  Newman's  Oxford  residence. 

First,  the  "Tracts  for  the  Times."  In  1832  Newman 
and   Hurrel  Froude  sailed  for  the  Mediterranean.     They 


258      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

left  behind  them  a  troubled  England.  Disestablishment 
was  in  sight.  The  Church  of  England  "  was  folding  her 
robes  about  her  to  die  with  what  dignity  she  could." 
Newman  left  all  that  to  traverse  seas  spread  with  historic 
memories,  where  every  coast  was  clothed  upon  with  the 
charm  of  immemorial  ages  and  every  headland  the  re- 
surgence of  a  classic  past.  Beneath  such  skies,  upon  such 
seas  Newman  burst  into  song.  "  Of  all  his  published 
poetry,  barring  the  *  Dream  of  Gerontius/  four-fifths  was 
written  in  these  weeks." 

Rome  laid  her  mighty  spell  upon  his  facile  imagination 
<*  All  that  I  ever  saw  are  but  as  dust  compared  with  its 
majesty — glory."  And  though  he  supposed  himself  to 
have  gone  home  more  established  than  ever  in  his 
antipathies  to  the  Roman  Church,  later  testimonies  show 
that  impressions  more  lasting  than  he  dreamed  had  been 
made  upon  him  as  he  yielded  himself  to  the  mighty 
pageantry  of  the  Latin  liturgy  in  the  Sistine  or  came 
upon  lonely  chapels  full  of  chanting  worshippers  in  the 
remotenesses  of  the  SiciHan  mountains.  It  was  upon  his 
homeward  voyage  that  he  wrote  "  Lead,  Kindly  Light," 
«'  which  is,"  says  Lowell  in  a  judgment  which  he  did  not 
offer  for  publication,  "  as  far  from  poetry  as  I  hope  most 
hymns  are  from  the  ear  to  which  they  were  addressed." 
"  The  kindly  light,"  to  follow  Newman's  last  biographer 
— who  certainly  would  never  have  got  on  without  that 
feeling  clause — led  Newman,  upon  his  return,  to  seek  a 
justification  and  a  defense  of  the  Anglican  Church  by 
tracing  her  roots  to  patristic  soil,  establishing  her  apostolic 
succession,  and  throwing  about  her  the  august  and  in- 
violable mantle  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church. 

A  consideration  of  the  tracts  lies  far  to  one  side  of  such 
a  study  as  this.     I  have  already  sought  to  indicate  what 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  259 

seem  to  me,  at  least,  the  enduring  services  of  the  High 
Church  movement.  To  say  that  Newman  failed  to 
establish  his  theories  of  an  unbroken  apostolic  succession 
for  the  Anglican  Church,  or  to  secure  for  her  such  a 
catholic  character  as  to  establish  her  on  a  parity  with 
the  Church  of  Rome  and  separate  her  wholly  from  the 
common  genesis  of  the  Protestant  Church,  is  to  beg  a 
disputed  question.  But  there  are  not  wanting  signs  that 
sound  scholars,  within  the  Anglican  communion,  are 
modifying  their  contentions  in  this  field  and  that  to-day, 
whatever  real  human  interest  tlie  Tractarian  movement 
possesses,  it  has  little  to  offer  scholarship  and,  as  an  in- 
terpretation of  church  history,  is  more  and  more  put  to 
it  to  hold  its  ground.  But  in  such  regions  as  have  already 
been  indicated,  Tractarianism  has  been  and  is  a  force 
which  has  modified  the  outlook  of  all  the  Churches. 

All  the  while  Newman  was  vicar  of  St.  Mary's  and 
preaching  such  sermons  as  have  rarely  been  preached  to 
such  audiences  as  have  rarely  been  assembled.  In  his 
"  University  Sermons  "  Newman  has  made  his  supreme 
bid  for  immortality  and  has  become  already  as  deathless 
as  English  speech.  Much  else  in  his  life  will  one  day  be 
forgotten  ;  the  motives  that  led  him  into  the  Catholic 
Church  no  longer  concern  many  save  curious  seekers  into 
the  more  labyrinthian  movements  of  perturbed  souls — 
nor  concern  them  over-much.  His  whole  work  for  Cath- 
olic propaganda  and  defense  has  already  largely  spent  its 
force.  The  pitiful  sterility  of  his  life,  in  many  regions 
where  he  thought  himself  fruitful,  is  too  apparent ;  but 
because  he  was  given  the  magic  of  style  and  the  magic  of 
vision,  the  fabric  which  he  wove  out  of  these  two  will  not 
soon  be  fretted  away. 

"  From    the   seclusion   of  study,  and   abstinence,  and 


26o      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

prayer,  from  habitual  dwelling  in  the  unseen,  he  seemed 
to  come  forth  that  one  day  of  the  week  to  speak  to  others 
of  the  things  he  had  seen  and  known.  .  .  .  As  he 
spoke,  how  the  old  truth  became  new  !  how  it  came  home 
with  a  meaning  never  felt  before !  He  laid  his  finger — how 
gently,  yet  how  powerfully  ! — on  some  inner  place  in  the 
hearer's  heart,  and  told  him  things  about  himself  he  had 
never  known  till  then.  ...  To  call  these  sermons 
eloquent  would  be  no  word  for  them ;  high  poems  they 
rather  were,  as  of  an  inspired  singer.  .  .  .  And  the 
tone  of  voice  in  which  they  were  spoken,  once  you  grew 
accustomed  to  it,  sounded  like  a  fine  strain  of  unearthly 
music.  Through  the  silence  of  the  high  Gothic  building 
the  words  fell  on  the  ear  like  the  measured  drippings  of 
water  in  some  vast  dim  cave."  ^ 

These  were  the  high  days  of  Newman's  soul,  and  their 
music  remains  our  perpetual  possession  to  witness  that 
Jerusalem  which  is  from  above  is  free — which  is  the 
mother  of  us  all — and  what  Newman  spoke  out  of  the 
free  homeland  of  his  spirit  will  abide.  Meanwhile  those 
lesser  contentions,  those  supposititious  necessities,  to 
which,  by  the  strange  duality  of  his  nature,  he  was  com- 
pelled to  bow  himself  for  peace,  carried  him  far  afield. 
"With  increasingly  daring  and  subtle  and  specious  argu- 
ments, Newman  and  his  compeers  were  reading  the  con- 
tent of  Catholic  tradition  into  the  creeds  and  formularies 
of  the  Anglican  Church,  and,  as  you  are  minded  to  argue, 
wresting  her  articles  from  their  proper  historical  setting 
or  else  restoring  them  thereto.  All  this  in  the  face  of  a 
rising  storm.  There  was  but  one  of  two  outcomes  to 
such  a  course  as  that  to  which  the  Tractarians  were  now 
committed  :  either  they  would  be  silenced  by  the  Angli- 
» "  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  I,  p.  65. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  261 

can  authorities,  or  the  sheer  force  of  the  movement  they 
had  launched  would  carry  them  into  the  Roman  fold. 
Indeed,  both  happened.  The  authorities  spoke  and  in 
speaking  drove  the  movement,  in  the  person  of  its  lead- 
ers, hopelessly  Romeward.  The  certainty  of  such  an 
outcome  was  resident  by  implication  in  Newman's  posi- 
tion from  the  first.  Since  the  guarantee  of  the  quality  of 
the  deposit  of  faith  lay  in  the  ancient  constitutions  of  the 
Church  to  which  it  was  committed,  the  all  too  evident 
gulf  between  the  Anglican  and  the  Latin  Catholic 
Churches  was,  sooner  or  later,  to  open  at  Newman's 
feet.  He  was  little  enough  of  a  critical  historian,  but  his 
very  instincts  would,  sooner  or  later,  bring  him  to  an  im- 
passe which  would  compel  elemental  reconstructions  of 
his  ecclesiastical  life. 

A  "  quasi  monastic  "  sojourn  at  Littlemore  tempered 
the  transition,  but  in  the  end,  in  October,  1845,  3-t  the 
close  of  a  day  of  pouring  rain,  Newman  made  his  con- 
fession to  Father  Dominic,  a  Passionist,  who  "  has  had 
his  thoughts  turned  to  England  in  a  distinct  and  remark- 
able way,"  and  was  received  into  the  "  Church  of  Christ." 
He  was  "  afterwards  quite  prostrate."  In  this,  so  mo- 
mentous a  step,  Newman  followed  the  compulsions  of  his 
soul.  He  had  to  say  as  truly  as  Martin  Luther :  "  Here 
I  stand,  God  help  me,  I  can  do  no  other."  And  his  act 
was  for  him  fruitful  in  a  deep  interior  peace. 

Twenty  years  later  he  wrote :  "  I  have  found  in  the 
Catholic  Church  abundance  of  courtesy  but  little  sympa- 
thy among  persons  in  high  places  except  a  few,  but  there 
is  a  depth  and  a  power  in  the  Catholic  religion,  a  fullness 
of  satisfaction  in  its  creed,  its  theology,  its  rites,  its  sacra- 
ments, its  discipline,  a  freedom  yet  a  support  also,  before 
which  the  neglect  or  the  misapprehension  about  oneself 


262      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

on  the  part  of  individual  living  persons,  however  exalted, 
is  as  so  much  dust  when  weighed  in  the  balance.  This 
is  the  true  secret  of  the  Church's  strength,  the  principle 
of  its  indefectibihty  and  the  bond  of  its  indissoluble 
unity.  It  is  the  earnest  and  the  beginning  of  the  repose 
of  heaven."  *  This  •'  earnest  and  beginning  of  the  repose 
of  heaven  "  was  for  Newman,  during  the  first  twenty 
years  of  his  Catholic  communion,  somewhat  to  seek — at 
least  in  externalities. 

"  The  very  source  and  fount  of  Day 

Is  dashed  with  wandering  isles  of  Night." 

There  were  a  good  many  sun-spots  in  Newman's 
firmament.  Very  likely,  to  begin  with,  his  submission 
to  St.  Peter's  chair  seemed  more  centrally  significant  to 
him  than  it  did  to  the  then  reigning  successor  of  the 
fisherman.  Newman  was  a  man  of  real  and  unfeigned 
humility,  but  his  world,  none  the  less,  revolves  unex- 
pectedly about  himself.  His  story  is,  in  its  abiding  in- 
terests, the  drama  of  a  soul  and  that  soul  his  own.  His 
supreme  concerns  are  interior,  and  all  the  projects  and 
adventures  of  his  Catholic  life  have  himself  for  their  depar- 
ture. His  self-dedication  was  without  qualification,  his 
obedience  to  all  those  in  authority  so  perfect  as  to  be 
pathetic  ;  yet  in  it  all  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  to  deal 
unfairly  with  Newman  to  say  there  was  never  wanting  a 
haunting  consciousness  that  it  was  John  Henry  Newman 
who  was  so  dedicating  himself,  John  Henry  Newman  who 
was  offering  an  obedience  to  his  Bishop  or  his  Pope. 
Deeper,  in  all  likelihood,  than  he  himself  knew  there  lay 
inbred  remnants  and  tendencies  of  Protestantism  which 
obscured  the  clear  light  of  his  Catholic  devotion  only  as 
1  "  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  I,  p.  20I. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  263 

unseen  vapours  lend  a  strange  and  poignant  clarity  to 
high  autumnal  days,  never  shaping  themselves,  or  at  best 
but  rarely  shaping  themselves  into  clouds,  and  yet  at  the 
same  time  constituting  the  stuff  out  of  which  clouds  are 
wrought  and  holding  the  elemental  possibilities  of 
tempests.  This  is,  perhaps,  an  indirect  way  of  saying 
that,  in  certain  regions  at  least,  Catholicism  was  never  so 
utterly  the  home  of  Newman's  soul  as  he  himself  always 
supposed,  and  that,  from  first  to  last,  his  relationships  to 
the  Church  were  never  wholly  free  from  such  subtle  and 
deep-based  elements  of  tension.  On  the  other  side  the 
Church  to  which  Newman  devoted  himself  was,  during 
all  the  period  of  his  more  active  connection  with  it, 
strangely  different  from  the  Church  of  his  rare  and 
tender  dreams.  From  time  to  time  Newman  seems  to 
sense  the  limitations  of  the  hierarchy  in  dealing  with 
his  own  case  ;  he  is  unexpectedly  wanting  in  any  sense 
of  the  limitations  of  that  hierarchy  in  dealing  with  con- 
temporaneous Europe.  One  has  only  to  turn  from 
Newman's  radiant  idealizations  of  a  Catholic  Church, 
rooted  in  apostolic  soil,  unbroken  in  her  sequences, 
inviolate  in  her  great  utterances,  coming  to  a  head  in  a 
Pontiff  in  whom  all  the  glory  of  Christendom  is  incarnate 
and  who  sectirus  jiidicat  orbis  terrarum,  to  the  realities  of 
papal  politics  and  the  intrigues  of  papal  diplomats,  to  see 
what  capacities  reside  in  the  dreamer's  soul  of  transfigur- 
ing the  objects  of  his  passion  and  his  desire.  The  papacy 
of  Newman's  high  Catholic  days  was  the  head  and  front 
of  reactionary  Europe,  opposed  on  the  whole  to  all  the 
finer  and  better  spirit  of  nationality  which  in  Italy  and 
France  was  striving  to  secure  the  real  gains  of  the  French 
Revolution,  desperately  opposed  to  Italian  unity,  and  not 
at  all  nice  in  choosing  the  weapons  which  it  employed. 


264      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD  . 

The  wonder  is  that  such  a  poet  and  dreamer  as  Newman 
was  not  more  deeply  disillusioned  and  subjected  to  still 
more  trying  experiences. 

In  the  main,  from  first  to  last,  all  that  he  sought  to  do 
through  the  Church  and  for  the  Church  was  defeated. 
He  was  anxious  to  employ  his  unrivalled  powers  as  a 
teacher  and  leader  of  young  men  in  giving,  first  to  Irish 
and  later  to  English  Catholicism,  a  quality  of  intellectual 
openness  and  hospitality,  then  sadly  to  seek,  and  in 
establishing  the  faith  of  the  EngHsh-speaking  Church  on 
broader  and  more  reasonable  foundations  and  in  fuller 
consonance  with  the  dominant  scientific  and  even  philo- 
sophical tendencies  of  the  time.  In  other  words,  he 
sought,  in  regions  of  faith,  that  same  via  media — that 
same  safe  position — between  extremes  which,  in  regions 
of  ecclesiastical  organization,  he  had  aforetime  fondly 
supposed  the  Anglican  Church  to  hold.  Just  as  he  had 
confessedly  failed  to  discover  in  the  Anglican  Church  the 
via  media  between  extreme  Protestantism  and  extreme 
Catholicism,  so  he  failed  to  establish  the  theological 
via  media^  and  that,  we  can  see  clearly,  for  two  reasons. 
First,  because  the  Catholic  Church  did  not  mean  to  have 
such  a  position  established  ;  it  was  against  all  her  instincts, 
her  traditions,  her  dominant  temper ;  it  involved  recogni- 
tions and  permissions  of  which  she  was  logically  afraid — 
or  better,  of  which  she  feared  the  logic.  She  put  her  ban 
upon  this  movement  wherever  it  disclosed  itself,  whether 
in  Germany  with  Bollinger,  in  France  with  Lacordaire 
or  Montalembert,  or  in  England  with  Newman  and  Lord 
Acton.  Her  attitude  towards  Newman's  endeavour  was 
exactly  her  attitude  towards  modernism  to-day,  for 
Newman,  though  he  knew  it  not,  was  in  this  region  a 
modernist. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  265 

The  story  of  the  way  in  which  Newman  was  constantly 
checked  and  thwarted,  whether  in  his  endeavour  to  found 
a  Cathohc  university  in  Ireland,  to  secure  a  representative 
pubhcation  in  England,  or  to  establish  the  Oratory  at 
Oxford  and  so  to  leaven  Oxford  life,  is  long  and  pathetic, 
and  Newman's  attitude  in  it  all  is  very  much  more  credit- 
able than  the  attitude  of  the  men  who  fought  him  with 
weapons  which  he  did  not  understand  and  entangled  him 
in  a  web  whose  subtle  weaving  was  far  beyond  his  sight. 
From  first  to  last  he  was  patient,  obedient  and  vastly 
wiser  than  the  powers  which  hindered  him.  Only  once 
does  his  impatience  break  through,  and  that  in  connection 
with  the  second  attempt  to  establish  himself  at  Oxford. 
The  permission  then  given,  and  upon  which  he  acted, 
was  accompanied  by  secret  reservations  so  fundamentally 
unfair  as  to  wring  from  Newman  perhaps  the  sharpest 
words  which  he  ever  said  about  the  group  of  men  whoso 
long  bafBed  him.  His  habits  of  thought,  moreover,  were 
for  a  long  time  under  the  shadow  of  Rome's  suspicion. 
It  is  not  easy,  after  all,  for  a  man  born  and  bred  as  was 
Newman  to  dismiss  all  the  stronger  and  more  inde- 
pendent part  of  his  past.  He  was  never  able  to  under- 
stand why  statements  which  seemed  to  him  either  directly 
a  part  of  his  work  as  a  scholar  or  incident  to  the  straight- 
forward conduct  of  life  as  he  sought  to  live  it,  should 
bring  him  so  perilously  near  the  index.  He  was  for  long, 
happily  or  unhappily,  unconscious  of  the  subtle  disfavour 
under  which  he  moved,  simply  because  there  was  want- 
ing in  him  any  temper  by  which  he  could  test  himself. 
I  am  seeking  in  all  this  to  say  that  which  is  not  easy  to 
say,  but  which  may  be  summed  up  in  a  sentence  ;  and 
that  is,  that  there  were  wanting  in  certain  regions  of 
Newman's  life  the  qualities  of  a  perfect  Catholic. 


266      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Beyond  all  this  one  may  gravely  question  whether 
Newman  himself  was  capable  of  accomplishing  the  work 
to  which  he  sought  to  dedicate  his  life.  He  sought  to  be 
a  mediator  and,  within  the  safe  shelter  of  the  Church's 
authority,  to  meet  the  rising  tides  of  rationalism  and 
doubt  which  faced  the  whole  Christian  world.  But  after 
all  is  said  there  are  certain  battles  which  cannot  be 
fought  behind  walls,  certain  great  adventures  of  the 
human  soul  which  cannot  be  conducted  from  behind 
a  breakwater.  We  are  coming  to  see  now  that  beneath 
those  searching  challenges  with  which  the  nineteenth 
century  met  the  inheritances  of  faith  there  were  slowly 
forming  vast  and  luminous  affirmations  in  which  faith 
should  be  reborn,  and  that  in  bewildering  and,  to  sensi- 
tive souls,  even  terrifying  guises  the  forces  of  the  Unseen 
and  Eternal  were  beginning  to  arm  themselves  not  for 
our  overthrowing,  but  for  our  reenforcement.  The  ends 
which  Newman  sought  were  to  be  and  are  in  the  way  of 
being  reached ;  faith  is  being  given  a  new  content,  the 
everlasting  reality  of  religion  new  protagonists.  But  all 
this  has  been  true  only  as  men  have  been  willing  to  take 
to  the  open  sea  and  let  truth  lead  them  wheresoever  she 
would.  That  sea  was  rough  enough  and  the  portent  of 
rising  tempests  was  in  the  sky,  but  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  as  in  all  the  centuries,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
except  to  face  its  challenges,  accept  its  call  and,  with 
only  the  stars  for  a  guide  and  a  great  confidence  that 
God  does  not  mean  the  mighty  adventure  of  the  human 
soul  to  come  to  naught,  to  make  head  against  waves  and 
winds  in  the  hope  of  reaching  the  appointed  haven. 

Newman  was  not  strong  enough  to  do  this,  else  he 
would  never  have  taken  to  the  sheltered  harbours  to  be- 
gin with.     Here  is  the  strange  duality  of  the  man's  na- 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  267 

ture,  the  supreme  interest  of  his  biography.  He  could 
not  follow  things  through  ;  he  felt  the  full  force  of  the 
winds,  but  he  was  wanting  in  sense  of  elemental  secu- 
rity ;  in  the  pressure  of  doubt  he  did  not  know  that  doubt 
may  become  the  very  pilot  of  the  soul.  He  believed 
where  he  ought  to  have  doubted  and  doubted  where  he 
ought  to  have  believed.  He  knew  the  ends  which  ought 
to  be  reached,  but  he  faced  in  the  wrong  direction.  No 
man  could  have  done  what  he  sought  to  do  who  was  not 
willing  to  do  what  he  could  not  do,  and  that  is  to  ac- 
cept every  approved  conclusion  of  the  scientists,  every 
sound  ascertainment  of  historic  criticism  and  the  move- 
ments of  human  reason  itself  in  a  great  confidence  that 
truth  can  never  contradict  herself,  that  reason  is  always  a 
God-given  guide  and  that,  in  the  end,  reconciliations  be- 
tween the  needs  of  the  soul  and  the  affirmations  of  the 
intellect  are  not  only  possible,  but  inevitable.  He  should 
have  known  better  the  deeper  meaning  of  the  times  which 
he  so  loved  and  the  guides  whom  he  so  faithfully  fol- 
lowed ;  he  should  have  known  that  the  Fathers  themselves 
were  pioneers  and  the  councils  of  the  Church  were  the 
stages  of  daring  speculations — the  doors  through  which 
new  truth  was  always  entering.  Had  the  Fathers  met  the 
problems  of  their  own  time  with  such  a  recourse  to  an- 
tiquity as  he  himself  advocated,  they  would  never  have 
got  anywhere  at  all.  The  men  in  the  last  two  genera- 
tions who  have  done  the  work  which  Newman  sought  to 
do  have  been  brave,  lonely  and  storm-tossed,  but  they 
have  known  that  to  put  themselves  in  the  hand  of  any 
authority  save  the  authority  of  truth,  even  though  they 
brokenly  discerned  her  gleaming  splendours,  was  to  com- 
mit intellectual  suicide  and  to  halt  humanity  in  the  morn- 
ing  of  its   high  advance;  that  with  such   a  trust  ship- 


268      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

wreck  was  impossible,  and  that,  though  their  boat  might 
sink,  "  'twas  to  another  sea." 

For  twenty  years  then,  and  for  such  reasons  as  I  have 
sought  to  indicate,  Newman's  Hfe  was  sadly  sterile  in  ex- 
ternal accomplishments.  True  enough  there  was  much 
lecturing,  preaching,  occasional  book  writing  and  writing 
of  many  articles,  but  Newman  himself  testified  again  and 
again  how  inadequate  he  felt  it  all  to  be  and  how  far 
from  what  he  really  sought  to  get  done.  During  all 
these  years  he  was  living  in  a  most  simple  way  in  an 
Oratory  at  Birmingham,  doing  mission  work  in  a  poor 
quarter  of  the  city,  devout  and  gentle.  He  found  his 
peace  in  a  Rome  which  he  idealized,  and  in  a  Church 
whose  daily  offices  fitted  the  needs  of  his  soul.  While 
still,  as  years  go  now,  a  young  man,  he  complained  of  ad- 
vancing age ;  he  grew  old  soon  and  remained  old  a  long, 
long  time.  He  had,  at  least  on  one  occasion,  the  fear  of 
imminent  death.  His  friends  wondered  if  his  change  of 
communion  had  secured  all  that  he  sought,  and  there 
were,  from  time  to  time,  rumours  that  he  was  to  return  to 
the  Anglican  fold,  rumours  which  he  denied  with  such 
an  estimate  of  the  quality  of  the  life  and  worship  of  that 
same  fold  as  did  not  greatly  endear  him  to  men  who  still 
loved  and  served  it.  In  all  likelihood  nothing  more 
would  have  come  out  of  Newman's  Catholic  communion 
beyond  what  has  already  been  indicated  had  it  not  been 
for  Kingsley's  unwise  attack  upon  him.  The  "  Apologia" 
was  the  direct  consequence  of  that  attack,  and  Newman's 
reestablishment  in  the  favour  of  his  countrymen  and  of 
the  Catholic  Church  was  the  outcome  of  the  *•  Apologia." 

At  Christmas  time  in  1863,  when  peace  is  most  com- 
monly supposed  to  prevail  among  Christians,  Charles 
Kingsley  inaugurated  an  historic  and  fruitful  strife  by  a 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  269 

sentence  in  a  review  of  Froude's  "  History  of  England  " 
published  in  MacMillan  s  Magazine.  That  pregnant  sen- 
tence follows  :  "  Truth  for  its  own  sake  has  never  been  a 
virtue  with  the  Roman  clergy.  Father  Newman  informs 
us  that  it  need  not  be,  and  on  the  whole  ought  not  to  be  ; 
in  that  cunning  is  the  weapon  which  heaven  has  given  to 
the  saints  wherewith  to  vi^ithstand  the  brute  male  forces 
of  the  wicked  world  which  marries  and  is  given  in  mar- 
riage. Whether  his  notion  be  doctrinally  correct  or 
not,  it  is,  at  least,  historically  so."  *  Seen  dispassion- 
ately this  was  a  rather  uncalled-for  aside,  and  one 
does  not  wonder  that  Newman  wrote  directly  to  call 
the  attention  of  the  publishers  as  gentlemen  to  a  "  grave 
and  gratuitous "  slander.  Kingsley  acknowledged  the 
authorship  of  the  article,  said  that  he  felt  justified  in 
saying  what  he  had  said  in  the  light  of  many  passages 
from  Newman's  writings,  and  especially  in  the  light  of 
one  of  Newman's  sermons,  and  that  he  was  ready,  on 
being  proved  wrong,  to  retract  his  accusation  as  pub- 
licly as  he  had  made  it.  Such  a  retraction  was  evi- 
dently made,  but  in  an  unhappy  and  half-grudging  way. 
Kingsley  sought  to  be  sarcastic  and  subtle ;  these  were 
not  his  proved  weapons  and  he  was  using  them,  more- 
over, against  a  past-master  in  their  employment.  New- 
man answered  still  more  subtly  and  sarcastically,  and 
there,  in  all  likelihood,  the  matter  would  have  rested  had 
not  Hutton  taken  it  up  in  the  Spectator  and  shaken  the 
whole  situation  as  a  red  flag,  not  only  in  the  face  of  the 
protagonists  but  in  the  face  of  the  English  people. 
Kingsley  returned  to  the  attack  with  a  controversial 
pamphlet,  "  What,  then,  does  Dr.  Newman  mean  ? " 
The   issue  showed  that   Kingsley  had  taken  his  position 

>  *•  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  II,  p.  i. 


270      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

hastily,  had  been  governed  rather  by  his  instincts  than 
his  acumen,  and  had  deUvered  himself  into  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.  In  the  face  of  this  renewed  attack  Newman 
did  not  long  hesitate ;  he  determined  to  meet  it  by  a  full 
revelation  of  all  that  travail  of  soul  in  which  he  had  made 
the  exchange  of  communions  and  come  into  his  Catholic 
faith.  It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  do,  he  says,  for  it 
meant  the  uncovering  of  the  secret  places  of  his  inner 
hfe  and  the  touching  anew  of  wounds  which  had  never 
wholly  healed,  but  it  gave  him,  at  the  same  time,  the 
strategic  opportunity  of  clearing  a  career,  always  some- 
what overcast  by  suspicion  and  misunderstanding,  from 
clouds  which  had  so  darkly  gathered  around  it  as  to 
have  begun  seriously  to  obscure  Newman's  future.  With 
groanings  then,  some  of  which  could  not  be  uttered  and 
many  of  which  were  uttered,  working  sometimes  twenty- 
two  hours  at  a  stretch,  shaken  with  tears  as  he  wrotCp 
Newman  got  the  "  Apologia  "  done,  delivering  it  to  Mac- 
Millan  in  weekly  parts.  By  this  time  all  England  had 
gathered  around  the  combatants.  As  a  combat  it  was  a 
melancholy  spectacle.  Kingsley's  method  of  attack  had 
been  sadly  loose  ;  every  joint  of  his  armour  was  open. 
Newman  thrust  his  rapier  through  that  armour  wherever 
he  pleased  and  revenged  himself  in  the  end  by  affixing  to 
it  some  thirty  stigmata  which  he  called  blots,  the  afore- 
said blots  being  signal  instances  of  Kingsley's  want  of 
acumen  and  fairness.  It  was  a  thorough  piece  of  work. 
As  one  reads  it  now  one  sees,  what  the  English-speaking 
world  long  ago  came  to  see,  that  its  values  do  not  lie  in 
its  controversial  dexterity.  Towards  the  end,  in  those 
passages  which  reveal  Newman's  real  intellectual  quality, 
he  maintains  his  integrity  at  the  cost  of  intellectual  ro- 
bustness.    He   shows  himself  sadly  wanting  in   critical 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  271 

qualities  and  is  not  wholly  free  from  the  reproach  of  deal- 
ing tortuously  with  the  question  which  precipitated  the 
whole  controversy :  the  attitude  of  the  Roman  Church 
towards  truth. 

The  "  Apologia  "  belongs  rather  to  the  literature  of  con- 
fession ;  it  is  the  revelation  of  the  processes  of  a  soul. 
Newman  supposed  himself  to  have  justified  his  religious 
development  by  the  processes  of  his  reason  ;  in  reality  it  is 
all  deeper  than  reason.  He  does  indeed  show,  to  his  own 
satisfaction  and  doubtless  to  the  satisfaction  of  others, 
that  the  Anglican  is  no  true  Church,  being  in  a  state  of 
schism  and  holding  the  same  relation  to  the  one  Holy 
and  ApostoHc  Catholic  Church  as  the  schismatic  bodies 
of  earlier  times.  He  tells  us  in  pages  whose  literary 
charm  would  alone  secure  their  immortality,  of  the  prin- 
ciples from  which  he  set  out,  the  objects  which  he  sought 
to  accomplish  and  the  studies  and  conclusions  which 
guided,  checked,  deflected  and  finally  impelled  him  into 
the  Roman  Church.  We  must  read  between  the  lines 
the  confessions  of  a  doubter  who  could  not  in  the  clear 
light  of  reason  resolve  his  doubts — he  had  come  to  see, 
lie  says,  that  as  between  atheism  and  full  subjection  to  the 
Church  at  Rome  there  was  no  halting  place — of  an  un- 
believably sensitive  soul  incapable  of  bearing,  without  the 
reenforcements  of  ancient  authority,  the  challenges  ot 
contemporaneous  thought ;  of  a  conservative  whose  fear 
of  liberalism  was  almost  a  mania  and  yet  who,  by  a  con- 
tradiction which  was  never  wanting  in  the  man's  life,  saw 
how  necessary  it  was  that  a  place  should  be  made  in  the 
life  of  the  Church  for  many  of  the  liberal  contentions  ;  of 
a  childlike  nature  wanting  to  be  led,  of  a  temper  keenly 
alive  to  the  offices  and  consolations  of  the  Roman  liturgy  • 
of  a  thinker  who   with   all  his   critical  acumen  displays 


272      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

most  unexpected  credulities  and  finds  a  strange  intellec- 
tual peace  in  surrounding  himself  with  wonders  and  leg- 
ends which  he  is  too  much  of  a  poet  to  disturb  and  too 
much  of  an  historian  to  accept  save  as  he  secures  for  him- 
self new  canons  of  probability  and  shelters  himself  behind 
the  authority  of  the  Church. 

There  is  no  end  here  to  what  one  might  keep  on  say- 
ing. Newman  is  capable,  for  example, — although  I  do 
not  quote  from  the  "  Apologia  "  but  from  a  letter  written 
from  Santa  Croce  in  1847 — of  writing  like  this  apropos 
of  the  liquefactions  of  the  blood  of  the  saints : 

"  But  the  most  strange  phenomenon  is  what  happens 
at  Ravello,  a  village  or  town  above  Amalfi.  There  is 
the  blood  of  St.  Pantaleon.  It  is  in  a  vessel  amid  the 
stone  work  of  the  altar — it  is  not  touched — but  on  his 
feast  in  June  it  liquefies.  And  more,  there  is  an  excom- 
munication against  those  who  bring  portions  of  the  True 
Cross  into  the  Church.  Why  ?  Because  the  blood 
liquefies  whenever  it  is  brought.  A  person  I  know,  not 
knowing  the  prohibition,  brought  in  a  portion — and  the 
Priest  suddenly  said,  who  showed  the  blood, '  Who  has 
got  the  Holy  Cross  about  him?'  I  tell  you  what  was 
told  me  by  a  grave  and  religious  man.  It  is  a  curious 
coincidence  that  on  telling  this  to  our  Father  Director 
here,  he  said, '  Why,  we  have  a  portion  of  St.  Pantaleon's 
blood  at  the  Chiesa  Nuova,  and  it  is  always  hquid.'  "  ^ 

And  then  almost  directly  changing  his  ground,  he 
idealizes  and  really  with  great  sagacity  uncovers  the 
ageless  power  of  the  papacy  in  sentences  like  these : 

"  Punctual  in  its  movements,  precise  in  its  operations, 
imposing  in  its  equipments,  with  its  spirit  high  and  its 
step  firm,  with  its  haughty  clarion  and  its  black  artillery, 

1  •'  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  I,  p.  189. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  273 

behold  the  mighty  world  is  gone  forth  to  war — with 
what?  With  an  unknown  something,  which  it  feels  but 
cannot  see ;  which  flits  around  it,  which  flaps  against  its 
cheek,  with  the  air,  with  the  wind.  It  charges  and  it 
slashes,  and  it  fires  its  volleys,  and  its  bayonets,  and  it  is 
mocked  by  a  foe  who  dwells  in  another  sphere,  and  is 
far  beyond  the  force  of  its  analysis,  or  the  capacities  of 
its  calculus.  The  air  gives  way,  and  it  returns  again  ;  it 
exerts  a  gentle  but  constant  pressure  on  every  side; 
moreover,  it  is  of  vital  necessity  to  the  very  power  which 
is  attacking  it.  Whom  have  you  gone  out  against  ?  A 
few  old  men,  with  red  hats  and  stockings,  or  a  hundred 
pale  students,  with  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  beads  in 
their  girdle ;  they  are  as  stubble ;  destroy  them ;  then 
there  will  be  other  old  men,  and  other  pale  students,  in- 
stead of  them.  But  we  will  direct  our  rage  against  one ; 
he  flees  ;  what  is  to  be  done  with  him  ?  Cast  him  out 
upon  the  wide  world ;  but  nothing  can  go  on  without 
him.  Then  bring  him  back  !  But  he  will  give  us  no 
guarantee  for  the  future.  Then  leave  him  alone ;  his 
power  is  gone,  he  is  at  an  end,  or  he  will  take  a  new 
course  of  himself;  he  will  take  part  with  the  state  or  the 
people.  Meanwhile,  the  multitude  of  interests  in  active 
operation  all  over  the  great  Catholic  body  rise  up,  as  it 
were,  all  round,  and  encircle  the  combat,  and  hide  the 
fortune  of  the  day  from  the  eyes  of  the  world  ;  and  un- 
real judgments  are  hazarded,  and  rash  predictions,  till 
the  mist  clears  away,  and  then  the  old  man  is  found  in 
his  own  place,  as  before,  saying  mass  over  the  tomb  of 
the  Apostles."  ' 

What  shall  we   do  with  such  a  man  except  first  of  all 
do  what  Kingsley  himself  should  have  known  enough  to 

*"  Life  of  Cardinal  Newman,"  Wilfrid  Ward,  Vol.  I,  pp.  195,  196. 


274      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

do:  acknowledge  his  entire  sincerity,  despite  his  long 
hesitations  and  his  most  involved  and  tortuous  move- 
ment from  the  Anglican  to  the  Catholic  Church  ?  It 
was  not,  we  see  it  clearly  enough  now,  a  part  of  a  subtle, 
deeply-laid  plan ;  it  was  simply  the  reflection  in  his  out- 
ward career  of  the  progress  of  his  opinions  and  the  un- 
folding of  his  purposes.  John  Henry  Newman  was 
under  as  deep  compulsions  to  Catholicism  as  Kingsley 
to  his  militant  Protestantism  ;  he  could  have  found  peace 
nowhere  else.  The  '•  Apologia  "  reestablished  him  in  the 
favour  of  the  English  people  and  the  Roman  Church ; 
the  leaders  of  that  Church  recognized  that  he  had  com- 
mended their  communion  to  the  English  world  as  no  one 
else  could  have  done  it,  and  they  were  therefore  reason- 
ably grateful.  True  enough  the  trying  Oxford  expe- 
riences were  to  follow,  and  m  the  second  Oxford  expe- 
rience the  Church  treated  Newman  more  unfairly  than  in 
any  other  chapter  of  their  long  relationship  and  his  im- 
patience with  the  Church  probably  reached  its  greatest 
tension,  but  none  the  less  the  forces  which  the  "  Apologia  " 
released  did  not  weaken  or  give  over  until  they  had 
made  John  Henry  Newman  a  Cardinal  and  secured  for 
him  that  light  of  popular  favour  at  eventide  which  went 
far  to  compensate  for  the  pathetic  shadows  which  so 
checkered  his  long,  long  day. 

The  real  power  of  the  •*  Apologia,"  as  justifying  the 
Catholic  Church  to  all  those  who  read  it,  does  not,  I 
repeat,  lie  in  its  processes  of  reasoning,  but  is  rather 
here :  Newman  is  the  type  of  those  who  need  a  shelter 
for  their  salvation,  who  require  to  be  fed  with  the 
ancient,  the  traditional  and  the  hallowed,  who  are  un- 
able adequately  to  worship  except  in  great  fullness  of 
form  and  with  all  that  which  appeals  to  the  finer  senses 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  275 

and  kindles  the  imagination,  who  are  always  needing  to 
unburden  themselves  in  the  secret  of  the  confessional,  for 
whom  the  comforting  assurances  of  forgiveness  must  be 
fashioned  by  human  lips,  and  whose  imaginations  need 
to  be  dominated  as  was  the  imagination  of  Newman  by 
great  conceptions  given  august  expression — Newman 
himself  has  told  us  how  the  word  of  Augustine  heard 
through  his  perplexity — securus  judicat  or  bis  terrarujfi — 
dominated  his  imagination  and  became  as  distinct  a  turn- 
ing point  in  his  own  life  as  the  voice  which  came  to  Saul 
of  Tarsus  in  the  Damascene  desert  or  to  Augustine  in 
the  Gardens  of  Milan.  As  long  as  such  tempers  exist, 
the  Church  which  has  been  created  through  them  and 
for  them  will  also  exist  in  spite  of  failures  and  divisions 
so  great  as  to  have  long  ago  ruined  any  institution 
whose  foundations  were  not  so  deeply  laid.  There  is 
much  in  the  contention  of  some  Catholics  themselves 
that  no  Church  not  a  true  Church  could  have  outlived  so 
many  unworthy  leaders  and  so  many  chapters  which 
might  well  be  forgotten.  The  capacity  of  the  Roman 
Church  to  endure  and  to  reestablish  her  authority  from 
age  to  age  is  a  testimony,  which  must  not  be  gainsaid, 
to  the  enduring  reality  and  the  wide-spread  existence  of 
such  tempers  as  that  of  which  John  Henry  Newman  is  a 
great  and  fascinating  example. 

So  much  then  is  to  be  said  for  him  from  the  Catholic 
side  of  his  nature,  but  something  is  also  to  be  said  from 
the  other  side,  for  he  was  always  two  men  and  he  came 
tragically  near  being  so  great  in  other  and  nobler  regions. 
His  contradictions  lie  in  the  regions  of  his  mind.  He 
was  always  so  near  seeing  great  things  and  just  missing 
them.  There  is,  as  John  Hutton  has  said  in  substance, 
a  hole-and-corner  quality  in  Newman's  thinking  which 


276      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

comes  out  in  the  pages  of  the  "  Apologia  "  and  indeed  in 
all  his  work.  "  Perhaps  Newman's  entire  system  rests, 
when  all  is  said  and  done,  not  upon  revelation  but  upon 
reason,  upon  reason  working  in  holes  and  corners.  Per- 
haps it  all  rests,  not  upon  the  revelation  of  God,  but  upon 
his  own  terrible  analysis  of  man,  which  way  madness  lies. 
Perhaps  it  has  as  its  root  idea,  not  that  faith  in  God  to 
which  Christ  invites  us,  but  a  certain  suspicion  of  God,  a 
certain  terror  of  what  the  Almighty  might  do  to  us  if  He 
were  minded.  It  may  be  that  all  this  is  a  true  charge 
against  Newman.  Indeed,  it  was  his  boast  that  he  had 
accomplished  many  of  these  things.  And,  so  far,  we 
blame  him."  ^ 

Newman  found  a  satisfaction  in  intellectual  backwaters 
which  the  main  currents  of  history  did  not  yield  him. 
His  dislike  of  liberalism  was  so  extreme  that  he  would 
not,  in  the  harbour  of  Marseilles,  look  at  thetri-colour  on 
the  French  ships,  and  on  one  occasion  at  least  would  not 
go  abroad  in  Paris.  In  the  Anglican  Church  his  whole 
attitude  towards  the  free  churches  was  a  serene  super- 
ciliousness. A  Catholic,  he  dismissed  the  whole  Protes- 
tant movement  far  more  easily  than  is  the  scholar's  right 
— whatever  be  the  scholar's  communion. 

The  basal  fault  of  his  mind  was  in  stopping  short.  In 
his  essay  on  "  Development "  he  was  one  of  the  pioneers  in 
the  interpretation  of  history  in  terms  of  evolution.  He 
defended  the  additions  of  the  Catholic  Church  to  the 
body  of  primitive  truth  on  the  ground  that  such  addi- 
tions were  the  legitimate  unfolding  of  germinal  truth 
contained  in  the  Apostolic  deposit.  He  had  a  clear 
vision  of  an  unfolding  truth — always  within  the  field  of 
the  Catholic   Church — and   he   has   pictured  for  us  that 

* ««  Pilgrims  in  the  Region  of  Faith,"  John  A.  Hutton,  M.  A.,  p.  153. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  277 

development  with  such  true  joy  and  such  a  nobly  exalted 
style  as  to  show  how  real  it  ail  was  to  him.  But  he  was 
sadly  wanting  in  any  sense  that  the  range  of  the  develop- 
ment of  truth  was  too  vast  to  be  restrained  by  the  bar- 
riers which  the  Roman  Church  had  set  up  or  docilely  to 
follow  her  time-worn  channels.  Once  you  have  set 
development  free  it  is  hard  enough  to  hold  it  to  ancient 
forms  or  compress  it  in  any  mold,  no  matter  how  hal- 
lowed or  consecrated  by  the  years.  Here,  too,  is  a  spirit 
which  will  not  be  put  back  in  the  bottle  from  which  it 
was  set  free.  Newman's  philosophy  of  history  was  too 
big  for  the  applications  which  he  made  of  it.  His  mental 
range  suffered  through  the  very  constriction  of  his  mental 
processes  to  which  the  caution  of  his  dependent  soul  al- 
ways constrained  him.  He  would  have  been  braver,  hap- 
pier, immensely  more  fruitful  if,  having  discerned  the  vast 
unfolding  of  the  spirit  of  God  through  the  institutions  of 
men,  he  had  followed  that  light  beyond  the  frontiers  of 
Catholicism.  That,  too,  was  a  "  kindly  light "  and  would 
have  led  him  "  o'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent, 
till  the  night  "  of  his  fear  was  gone,  and  he  would  have 
stood  in  the  morning  of  an  ampler  and  a  freer  day.  He 
would  not  then  have  forgotten  (I  quote  Lowell)  that  God 
is  always  "  I  am  "  ;  never  "  I  was."  ^  He  would  have 
seen  the  hope,  not  the  portent,  of  the  banners  of  the  free 
nations,  and  he  might  have  gone  far  in  finding  a  common 
ground  for  all  the  Churches  and  in  some  part  supplied  an 
answer  to  his  own  prayer  :  "  And  I  earnestly  pray  for  this 
whole  company,  with  a  hope  against  hope,  that  all  of  us, 
who  once  were  so  united,  and  so  happy  in  our  union, 
may  even  now  be  brought  at  length,  by  the  Power  of  the 
Divine  Will,  into  One  Fold  and  under  One  Shepherd."  ^ 

*  •'  Letters,"  Vol.  II,  p.  415.  '  "  Apologia,"  p.  304. 


278      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

The  same  quality  of  stopping  short  underruns  his  in- 
terpretation of  the  infallibility  of  the  Church — an  inter- 
pretation which  he  would,  I  suppose,  have  later  extended 
to  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope.  Nowhere  is  his  imagina- 
tive insight  finer  than,  for  example,  in  such  a  passage  as 
this,  where  he  shows  what  ferments  of  discussion,  what 
endless  debates,  what  intricate  movements  of  the  mind,  lie 
behind  the  decisions  of  the  councils,  or  the  ex-cathedra 
pronouncements  of  the  Popes  : 

"  Perhaps  a  local  teacher,  or  a  doctor  in  some  local 
school,  hazards  a  proposition,  and  a  controversy  ensues. 
It  smoulders  or  burns  in  one  place,  no  one  interposing  ; 
Rome  simply  lets  it  alone.  Then  it  comes  before  a 
bishop ;  or  some  priest,  or  some  professor  in  some  other 
seat  of  learning  takes  it  up  ;  and  then  there  is  a  second 
stage  of  it.  Then  it  comes  before  a  university,  and  it 
may  be  condemned  by  the  theological  faculty.  So  the 
controversy  proceeds  year  after  year,  and  Rome  is  still 
silent.  An  appeal,  perhaps,  is  next  made  to  a  seat  of 
authority  inferior  to  Rome  ;  and  then  at  last  after  a  long 
while  it  comes  before  the  supreme  power.  Meanwhile, 
the  question  has  been  ventilated  and  turned  over  and  over 
again,  and  viewed  on  every  side  of  it,  and  authority  is 
called  upon  to  pronounce  a  decision,  which  has  already 
been  arrived  at  by  reason."  ' 

It  is  open  to  question  whether  the  long-suffering 
patience  of  Rome  is  such  as  here  described.  It  certainly 
was  not  in  Newman's  case.  He  was  pulled  up  more  than 
once  long  before  the  propositions  which  he  hazarded  ran 
such  a  leisurely  course  of  debate.  Nor  have  we  seen,  in 
our  time,  any  such  attitude  as  this  towards  modernism. 
More  than  that,  the  process  which  is  here  so  penetra- 

»  "  Apologia,"  p.  289. 


NEWMAN'S  APOLOGIA  279 

tingly  described  is  too  vast  to  be  confined  simply  to  an 
infallible  Church.  An  infallibility  which  does  nothing 
less  nor  more  than  to  adopt,  and  so  authenticate,  the  out- 
come of  long  continued  processes  of  debate  and  investi- 
gation, does  not  need  to  be  set  up  as  a  dogma  nor  require 
for  its  pronouncement  so  theatrical  a  setting  as  the 
Vatican  Council  of  1870.  If  this  is  all  that  infallibility 
means,  the  dogmatic  proclamation  of  it  is  a  work  of 
supererogation.  Why  could  not  Newman  have  seen  that 
this  is  just  the  way  in  which  all  truth  is  always  coming 
into  the  world ;  that  here  is  nothing  else  than  an  appeal 
to  that  reason  of  which  he  was  so  much  afraid  ;  that  the 
same  infallibility  attaches  to  the  work  of  the  scientist,  the 
historian  and  the  philosopher,  and  is  constantly  being 
secured  for  causes  which  were  beyond  the  reach  of  his 
vision,  for  worshipping  fellowships  which  he  ignored,  and 
for  intimations  of  truth  which  he  feared  ?  The  pity  of  it 
all  is  that,  having  seen  so  clearly  how  the  spirit  of  God 
moves  to  bring  men  into  all  truth,  he  should  have  directly 
turned  about  and  sought  to  confine  that  spirit  to  channels 
which  are  as  incapable  of  containing  it  as  the  Panama 
Canal  is  incapable  of  containing  the  floods  of  the  Amazon. 
Nor  is  the  world  such  a  welter  of  confusion  or  so  wanting, 
except  in  the  fellowships  of  the  Catholic  Church,  in  any 
manifestation  of  the  ordering  and  conquering  will  of  God, 
or  such  a  time-stained  monument  to  the  defeat  of 
Eternal  purposes  and  the  lack  of  perspicuity  in  the  divine 
vision,  as  Newman  makes  out  in  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated passages  in  the  "  Apologia  "  (p.  267  and  seq.). 
Nor  does  God  come  into  His  world  only  upon  a  kind  of 
afterthought  and  to  repair,  as  best  He  may,  the  confusion 
to  which  He  first  dismissed  His  children.  Such  shallow 
and  mechanical  ways  of  thinking  sent  Newman  far  afield 


28o      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

and  obscured  all  his  vision.  I  am  not  sure,  in  the  end, 
but  that  here  is  the  keystone  of  all  those  strange  vaulted 
arches  of  aspiration  and  v^eakness  beneath  which  he 
sheltered  his  faith  and  built  his  altars.  Had  he  possessed 
a  braver,  fuller  sense  of  God,  all  might  have  been  differ- 
ent ;  he  was  too  much  restricted  in  the  regions  in  which 
God  is  operative  ;  here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  he  took 
the  wrong  turning. 

Finally  we  see  clearly  that  the  "  Apologia "  has  an 
unexpected  relationship  to  the  book  with  which,  least  of 
all,  we  should  superficially  compare  it.  All  that  I  said 
in  the  beginning  about  the  gulf  which  opens  between 
*'  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  what  Newman  stood  for  and 
sought  is  wholly  true,  but  none  the  less  the  "  Apolo- 
gia" is  Newman's  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  He  was  not 
after  all  freed,  nor  have  any  ever  been  freed,  from  lonely 
necessities  and  sohtary  seekings  after  the  city  which  hath 
foundations.  In  spite  of  the  securities  upon  wliich  he 
leaned,  the  shelters  beneath  which  he  walked,  he  too  was 
a  pilgrim.  His  way  was  not  wanting  in  sloughs  of  des- 
pond, nor  hills  of  difficulty,  nor  even  castles  of  despair; 
he  too  had  his  visions  of  the  delectable  mocntains,  and 
came  down  in  good  courage  to  the  river.  Surely,  when 
his  eyes  were  opened,  he  must  have  seen  that  he  was  di- 
vided from  his  fellows  not  so  much  by  ma:ters  of  spiritual 
geography  as  by  diversities  of  nomenclature.  It  is  the 
same  map  for  us  all  and,  though  we  give  the  roads  which 
we  follow  different  names  and  quarrel  bravely  about  our 
guides,  we  are  more  nearly  comrades  than  we  dream.  All 
this  should  give  us  a  great  tenderness  for  all  our  fellow 
pilgrims  and  the  hope  that,  in  the  end,  we  shall  come 
more  clearly  to  recognize  this  and  to  act  upon  it  should 
be  for  us  all  a  light  in  the  sky. 


VII 
Tolstoy's  Confessions 

THE  choice  of  some  one  representative  figure  in 
whom  these  studies  may  terminate  is  a  wholly 
debatable  matter.  We  are  far,  far  past  the 
time  when  any  one  man  is  great  enough  to  speak  for  his 
entire  age.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  smothering  spiritual 
confusion  and  may  indeed  doubt  whether  any  one  will 
ever  be  able  to  speak  for  long  periods  and  vast  move- 
ments as  Dante  spoke  for  the  mediaeval  mind,  Bunyan 
for  the  Puritan,  or  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ "  for  monastic 
gentleness  and  devotion.  If  we  were  considering  solely 
the  literature  of  lonely  confession  without  reference  to 
the  fructifying  and  transforming  influence  of  such  con- 
fession we  might  well  end  with  Amiel,  for  without  doubt 
the  "  Journal  Intime  "  of  Amiel  is,  in  the  range,  delicacy 
and  haunting  wonder  of  it,  one  of  the  very  greatest  of 
confessions.  In  its  literary  charm  it  stands  quite  apart 
and  it  is,  moreover,  a  true  revelation  of  a  temper  wholly 
distinctive  of  our  own  time.  It  voices  our  own  new 
sense  of  the  wonder  and  mystery  of  life. 

We  have  shifted  our  sense  of  emphasis  :  hfe  is  no 
longer  secondary  ;  it  is  supreme.  We  do  not  subordinate 
it  to  theologies,  we  are  unwilling  to  postpone  its  con- 
summations and  rewards,  we  make  it  rather  the  test  of  all 
our  formularies.  Our  very  vocabulary  witnesses  our 
changed  conceptions ;  a  new  employment  of  the  word 

281 


282      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Life — we  spell  it  with  a  capital  letter — characterizes  all  our 
literature,  saturates  our  poetry,  has  modified  our  preach- 
ing and  given  new  titles  to  our  books.  Without  any 
doubt  the  lack  of  a  positive  note  in  so  much  of  our  mod- 
ern teaching  has  its  roots  just  here.  The  contemporane- 
ous voices  which  speak  most  clearly  and  representatively 
voice  the  restlessness  of  life  rather  than  its  peace,  its 
sense  of  insistent  change  rather  than  great  permanencies, 
their  mystic  wonder  at  their  own  inheritances,  their 
strange  interminglings  of  hopes  and  foreboding. 

In  such  regions  as  these  no  one  is  more  representative 
than  Amiel.  He  also  witnesses,  not  only  to  the  wonder 
of  life,  but  to  the  paralysis  which  this  sense  of  wonder 
may  produce.  There  are  always  those  who,  keenly  sen- 
sitive to  the  deeper  implications  of  life,  lose  the  roads  of 
action  as  they  dream  and  so  wander  to  the  edge  of 
abysses  which  deepen,  not  only  with  the  passing  of  their 
own  years,  but  with  the  passing  of  humanity's  years. 
Their  very  consciousness  of  the  significance  of  life  para- 
lyzes their  powers  of  choice  and  action.  So  life  becomes 
for  them  an  unspeakable  burden  and  yet,  by  a  strange 
contradiction,  an  unspeakable  experience.  They  dwell, 
like  Matthew  Arnold,  between  two  worlds,  one  dead — 
the  old  world  of  simple  faith  and  resolute  action,  the 
other — the  new  world  of  faith  and  deed  equal  to  their 
vision — powerless  to  be  born,  and  above  both  worlds  the 
haunting  sense  of  the  Infinite  and  Eternal.  The  very 
sensitiveness  of  Amiel's  soul,  the  reach  of  his  intuitions, 
the  scope  of  his  knowledge,  the  purity  of  his  aspirations 
made  him  tremulously  responsive  to  all  which  plays  upon 
the  more  feeling  children  of  our  own  time.  The  music 
of  his  meditations,  now  vague  and  tremulous,  now  storm 
swept,  now  nobly  massive,  grave  and  majestic  as  a  great 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  283 

organ  brought  into  full  action,  shows  us  what  perfect 
spiritual  instruments  are  capable  of  when  played  upon  by 
manifold  experiences  and  strangely  open  to  all  the  winds 
that  blow,  and  witnesses,  at  the  same  time,  how  pathet- 
ically unsatisfactory  all  this  is  if  no  conquering  purpose 
keeps  step  to  such  music,  no  matter  how  various  or 
grandiose  the  music  itself  may  be.  Life  is  now,  as  it  al- 
ways has  been,  a  great  adventure  ;  its  full  meanings  are 
never  known  by  those  who  dream  along  the  shores  of 
time.  The  full  meanings  of  life  are  known  only  to  those 
who  take  to  the  open  sea  and  are  so  much  occupied  with 
meeting  wind  and  wave  and  keeping  their  course  through 
the  fog  and  bringing  their  cargo  to  the  appointed  haven 
that  only  for  a  little,  in  the  intervals  of  eager  duties,  have 
they  any  time  to  scan  with  mystic  vision  the  ever  re- 
ceding horizons  or  wonder  beneath  the  stars.  Only 
when  we  search  the  skies  for  changeless  light  by  which 
to  test  and  correct  the  pilgrimages  of  earth  is  their  in- 
finity kind ;  only  when  we  look  up  to  vast  horizons  be- 
tween our  tasks  is  their  very  wideness  the  wideness  of 
the  mercy  of  God.  It  is  because  Amiel  failed  just  here 
that  his  confessions,  meditations,  introspections,  wonder- 
ful as  they  are,  are  no  true  expression  of  all  that  is  best 
and  bravest  about  us. 

It  is  to  Tolstoy,  therefore,  that  we  must  turn,  Tolstoy 
has  Amiel's  feeling  for  the  immense  significance,  the 
penetrating  difficulties  of  life  itself,  but  with  a  really  pro- 
found difference.  It  is,  to  begin  with,  a  difference  in 
courage  and  effectuality.  Whether  Tolstoy's  road  is  the 
right  road  or  not  may  be  open  to  debate,  but  that  he 
went  clean  to  the  end  of  it  is  beyond  debate.  He  put 
his  faith  to  the  test  and  sought  to  readjust,  not  only  his 
own  life,  but  the  life  of  the  world  as  far  as  he  could  reach 


284      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

or  move  it  to  his  own  changing  conceptions.  A  note 
of  self-reliant  action  is  never  wanting  in  Tolstoy's  music 
and  though  our  own  time  needs  sadly  enough  to  be 
purged  of  its  own  more  superficial  self-reliances  and  to  be 
taught  the  deeper  meaning  of  action  no  man  is  a  satis- 
factory guide  for  this  or  any  other  age  who  loses  himself 
in  his  dreams.  Whatever  Tolstoy  wrongly  does  or 
wrongly  leaves  undone  he  does  at  least  incarnate  those 
qualities  of  faith  in  action  and  action  in  faith  without 
which  every  pilgrimage  ends  either  in  the  Slough  of 
Despond  or  Doubting  Castle.  Amiel's  haunting  music 
will  lead  us,  if  we  do  not  take  care,  down  the  byways  of 
By-path  Meadow ;  Tolstoy  takes  the  Hill  of  Difficulty 
breast  forward. 

Tolstoy  is  also  distinctive  (and  here  indeed  he  differs 
from  all  those  whom  we  have  been  considering)  in  that 
he  is  the  son  of  a  race  but  recently  constituted  and  as 
yet  hardly  clearly  conscious  of  itself.  Saul  of  Tarsus  and 
Augustine  were  the  children  of  races  rooted  deep  in  his- 
tory ;  the  mystics  of  the  "  Imitation  "  and  "  Theologia 
Germanica "  had  behind  them  a  national  conscious- 
ness already  mature,  but  even  in  the  day  of  Bunyan 
Russia  was  hardly  born.  We  must  allow  for  something 
of  this  fermenting  racial  consciousness  in  all  Russian 
literature  and  in  the  work  of  Tolstoy  himself.  The  world 
in  which  he  lived  was  nearer  primitive  and  elemental 
backgrounds  than  he  would  himself  have  been  willing  to 
confess. 

Tolstoy  speaks,  moreover,  for  the  Slav.  He  was  not 
only  the  son  of  a  new-born  people,  but  of  a  race  bringing 
distinct  contributions  to  our  common  human  world.  The 
Slav  is  not  wanting  in  mysticism,  yet  he  marries  Mys- 
ticism to  a  terrible  Realism  :  he  is  a  dreamer,  yet  capable 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  285 

of  a  materialism  which  becomes,  upon  occasion,  sheerly 
brutal.  He  is  hard  and  susceptible  at  the  same  time, 
idealist  and  realist  in  the  same  breath.  And  deeper  than 
all  this  is  a  racial  note  never  wanting,  never  common- 
place, difficult  of  analysis,  and  so  different  from  all  that 
we  have  been  considering  as  simply  to  rest  in  its  sepa- 
rateness.  Tolstoy  incarnates  all  this  ;  he  is  always  two 
men.  It  is  the  strife  between  these  two  men  which  gives 
spiritual  significance  to  his  hfe. 

The  lower  man  against  whom  he  battles  so  long,  whose 
lawless  doings  he  so  often  and  so  bitterly  repudiates,  has 
a  sheer  elemental  quality  which  is  wanting  in  the  lower 
selves  against  which  St.  Paul  and  Augustine  and  John 
Bunyan  were  called  to  do  battle.  Tolstoy  has  also 
— though  this  is  to  anticipate — a  quality  of  self-suffi- 
ciency greatly  wanting  even  in  great  spiritual  adventures. 
(Possibly  we  feel  all  this  so  strongly  because  we  know 
Tolstoy  so  well.  If  we  had  the  same  quantity  of  con- 
temporaneous gossip  about  St.  Paul  or  St.  Augustine  we 
might  see  them  in  a  very  different  light.)  Like  Augus- 
tine he  too  is  restless  till  he  rests  in  God;  like  St.  Paul  he 
cries  out  "  Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am,  who  will  deliver 
me  from  the  body  of  this  death  ?  "  But  with  all  this  we 
do  not  discern  in  him  that  sense  of  spiritual  weakness 
which  threw  Augustine  and  St.  Paul  back  in  faith  upon 
the  redemptive  compassions  of  the  Eternal,  or  bowed 
them,  in  av/estruck  humility,  at  the  foot  of  the  throne 
of  God.  The  sense  of  need  he  surely  had — the  sense  of 
weakness — no.  Where  Newman  takes  to  the  shelter 
Tolstoy  takes  to  the  open  sea,  and  where  Amiel  is  para- 
lyzed by  the  difficulties  of  life  and  its  choices  Tolstoy 
shakes  himself  clear  of  its  complexities  and  triumphs 
by  his   own   spiritual  force.     For  the  "  Theologia  Gcr- 


286      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

manica  "  the  imitation  of  Christ  is  to  be  sought  in  mys- 
tical surrenders  and  fellowships ;  Tolstoy's  imitation  of 
Christ  is  the  utter  simplification  of  life  and  the  literal 
acceptance  of  the  gospel  teaching.  Thomas  a  Kempis' 
imitation  of  Christ  is  possible  only  within  the  shelter  of 
monastic  walls ;  the  great  Russian's  "  Imitation  "  is  at  a 
shoemaker's  bench  without  vows  or  disciplines.  Besides, 
the  road  which  every  one  of  these  men  followed  led 
them  to  systems  and  governments ;  Tolstoy  solves  his 
own  problems  in  an  excess  of  individualism  and  reads  a 
philosophic  anarchy  into  the  lines  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount. 

Tolstoy  was  born  in  1828.  He  was  descended  on  both 
sides  from  aristocratic  families ;  it  is  likely  that  his 
mother's  was  the  better  stock.  Certain  Russian  tradi- 
tions trace  back  a  considerable  body  of  the  Russian 
nobility — the  Tolstoys  among  them — to  German  immi- 
grants. The  Tolstoys  themselves  indignantly  repudiated 
any  such  suggestion  and  indeed  there  is  little  in  Tolstoy's 
personality  or  message  to  indicate  a  Teutonic  ancestry. 
He  was  Russian  through  and  through.  His  ancestors, 
beginning  with  one  Peter  Tolstoy — born  in  1645 — had 
various  fortunes ;  they  were  sometimes  intimately  associ- 
ated with  the  Russian  court  and  sometimes  in  disfavour 
and  exile.  Their  estates  were  confiscated  upon  one  occa- 
sion, but  their  family  fortunes  were  mended  by  a  fehcitous 
marriage.  In  fact  the  waning  fortunes  of  the  family  were 
more  than  once  rehabilitated  in  the  same  way.  Tolstoy's 
forebears  "  were  more  or  less  in  passive  opposition  to 
the  government,  and  shared  the  humanitarian  sympa- 
thies current  in  the  early  years  of  the  reign  of  Alexan- 
der I."  He  was  early  left  motherless  and  was  cared  for 
by  an  aunt  for  whom  he  had,  from  the  beginning,  the 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  287 

greatest  affection.  The  affection  was  always  returned 
and  her  concern  for  the  boy  was  shown  in  numberless 
ways.  "Auntie  Tatiana  had  the  greatest  influence  on 
my  life.  From  early  childhood  she  taught  me  the  spir- 
itual delight  of  love.  She  taught  me  this  joy  not  by 
words ;  but  by  her  whole  being  she  filled  me  with  love. 
I  saw,  I  felt,  how  she  enjoyed  loving,  and  I  understood 
the  joy  of  love.  Secondly,  she  taught  me  the  delights 
of  an  unhurried,  quiet  life."  Tolstoy  was  much  influ- 
enced by  his  eldest  brother,  Nicholas,  who  seems  to  have 
possessed  to  the  full  the  idealism  by  which  Tolstoy  him- 
self was  so  much  moved.  It  was  Nicholas  who  told  Tol- 
stoy and  his  brothers  how  he  had  discovered  a  secret  by 
which  all  men  might  become  happy.  The  boys  had  a 
strange  name  for  this  felicitous  fellowship ;  they  were  to 
be  called  *'  Ant-Brothers."  "  We  even  organized  a  game 
of  Ant-Brothers,  which  consisted  in  sitting  under  chairs, 
sheltering  ourselves  with  boxes,  screening  ourselves  with 
handkerchiefs,  and  cuddling  against  one  another  while 
thus  crouching  in  the  dark."  The  real  secret  of  happi- 
ness, however,  Nicholas  told  his  brothers,  he  had  written 
upon  a  green  stick  and  buried  in  a  certain  place.  Other 
conditions  which  Nicholas  imposed  upon  his  brothers 
were  equally  fantastic  and  capricious,  but  the  memory  of 
the  Ant-Brotherhood  remained  with  Tolstoy  to  the  end. 
Almost  seventy  years  later  he  writes :  "  The  ideal  of 
Ant-Brothers  lovingly  clinging  to  one  another,  though 
not  under  two  armchairs  curtained  by  handkerchiefs,  but 
of  all  mankind  under  the  wide  dome  of  heaven,  has  re- 
mained the  same  for  me.  As  I  then  believed  that  there 
existed  a  little  green  stick  whereon  was  written  the  mes- 
sage which  could  destroy  all  evil  in  men  and  give  them 
universal  welfare,  so  I  now  believe  that  such  truth  exists 


288      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

and  will  be  revealed  to  men,  and  will  give  them  all  it 

promises."  * 

Tolstoy's  reminiscences  have  something  of  the  char- 
acter of  Marcus  Aurelius'  memories  of  his  own  boyhood, 
something  of  the  same  suggestion  of  a  keen  and  observ- 
ant boy,  sheltered  and  happy,  about  whom  larger  move- 
ments ebbed  and  flowed.  He  lived  from  the  first  a 
vigorous  outdoor  life,  was  always  a  keen  sportsman  and 
trained  athlete.  (His  uncommon  bodily  power  stood  him 
in  good  stead  to  the  end.)  The  boy  had  always  the  in- 
stinct of  adventure.  (He  tried  to  fly  once  and  threw 
himself  out  of  a  window  with  the  expectation  that  if  he 
only  held  tight  enough  to  his  knees  he  would  defy  the 
law  of  gravitation.  He  got  a  slight  concussion  of  the 
brain  out  of  this  adventure,  but  no  lasting  injury.)  He 
was  better  at  riding  than  his  lessons.  The  family  tutor 
said :  "  Sergey  both  wishes  and  can,  Dimitry  wishes  but 
can't,  and  Leo  neither  wishes  nor  can."  It  is  only  fair 
to  say  that  Tolstoy's  French  tutor  took  a  very  much 
more  hopeful  view  of  him.  He  had  a  deal  of  intellectual 
power  when  he  was  minded  to  put  it  into  action.  Later 
in  life  he  performed  great  feats  of  acquisition.  Evidently 
the  tutor  who  said  that  he  neither  would  nor  could  was 
no  just  judge. 

The  undisciplined  intensities  of  Tolstoy's  nature  came 
directly  into  action  and  the  years  following  his  unsatis- 
factory university  course  were  restless  and  tumultuous 
enough.  He  is  always  dealing  with  himself  introspec- 
tively  and  always  setting  up  for  himself  high  and  search- 
ing ideals.  He  resolves  for  instance  :  "  To  fulfill  what  I 
set  myself,  despite  all  obstacles.  To  fulfill  well  what  I  do 
undertake.  Never  to  refer  to  a  book  for  what  I  have  for- 
1 "  The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  p.  19. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  289 

gotten,  but  always  to  try  to  recall  it  to  mind  myself.  Al- 
ways to  make  my  mind  work  with  its  utmost  power." 
He  outlines  for  himself  a  course  of  study  fairly  appalling 
in  its  scope  :  he  will  study  law,  medicine,  all  the  modern 
languages,  agriculture,  mathematics,  music,  painting  and 
the  natural  sciences,  and  write  essays  on  all  the  subjects 
he  studies/  No  need  to  say  that  such  a  program 
remained  unfulfilled. 

The  ferment  of  his  soul  was  even  more  intense  than  the 
ferment  of  his  mind.  The  very  first  pages  of  the  "  Con- 
fession "  testify  to  the  stages  of  his  deflection  from  faith. 
**  The  religious  teaching  which  was  imparted  to  me  in 
my  childhood  disappeared  in  me  just  as  in  others,  with 
this  difference  only,  that,  since  I  began  to  read  philo- 
sophical works  at  fifteen  years  of  age,  my  apostasy  very 
early  became  conscious.  With  my  sixteenth  year  I  quit 
praying  and  through  my  own  initiative  stopped  attend- 
ing church  and  preparing  myself  for  communion.  I  did 
not  believe  in  what  I  had  been  told  in  my  childhood,  but 
I  believed  in  something.  I  should  never  have  been  able 
to  say  what  it  was  I  believed  in.  I  believed  in  God,  or, 
more  correctly,  I  did  not  deny  God,  but  what  kind  of  a 
God  I  should  have  been  at  a  loss  to  say.  Nor  did  I  deny 
Christ  and  His  teaching,  but  what  His  teaching  con- 
sisted in,  I  should  also  have  been  at  a  loss  to  say."  ^ 
Tolstoy's  diary  shows  however  that  even  in  this  period  of 
storm  and  stress  he  was  never  wholly  unconscious  of  the 
necessities  of  his  soul ;  his  altar  fires  were  sadly  smothered, 
but  never  in  his  most  troubled  times  wholly  extinguished. 

The  world  in  which  Tolstoy  lived  is  not  easily  recon- 
structed.    It  was  a  world,  now  of  the  vast  open  spaces  of 

»  "  The  Life  oi"  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  pp.  37,  38. 
2  "  My  Confe:.sion,"  Tols  oy,  Beacon  Edition,  p.  6. 


290      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  Russian  countrysides,  now  of  Moscow  with  its  walls 
and  its  domes,  of  occasional  famine,  of  dependent  serfs, 
of  religious  intensities  and  moral  laxities.  He  took  in 
his  early  manhood  full  advantage  of  these  laxities  and  the 
practical  conduct  of  his  life  left  much  to  seek,  but  we 
must  remember  in  judging  him  the  moral  standards  to 
which  he  was  expected  to  conform.  He  never  seeks  to 
conceal  or  minimize  all  this  part  of  his  life.  His  confes- 
sions portray  a  struggle  even  more  intense  than  the 
struggle  which  still  kindles  the  pages  of  the  "  Confessions 
of  St.  Augustine  "  with  its  passion.  There  is  always  this 
difference :  Augustine  was  a  rhetorician  and  with  all  our 
sure  persuasion  of  the  man's  entire  sincerity  we  feel, 
even  in  those  pages  in  which  Augustine  strips  his  soul 
bare,  the  rhetorician's  touch. 

Tolstoy  is,  in  his  nobler  passages,  the  master  of  a  most 
telling  style,  but  he  is  never  a  rhetorician  and  he  always 
writes  under  restraint.  Each  stroke  of  the  pen  tells.  It 
is  this  restrained  intensity  of  narration,  this  paucity  of 
emotion,  with  a  pitiless  veracity  of  fact  and  detail,  which 
gives  the  "  Confessions  "  of  Tolstoy  their  power  and  signifi- 
cance. He  is  realistic  in  confession  as  in  all  his  literary 
art.  In  this,  at  least,  there  is  not  his  hke  in  the  whole 
literature  of  confession.  The  periods  of  self-indulgence 
were  always  succeeded  by  times  of  bitter  repentance  and 
spiritual  depression.  ♦*  Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am  "  is 
again  and  again  upon  his  lips  and  at  the  point  of  his  pen. 

The  division  of  the  family  estates  gave  Tolstoy  a 
modest  patrimony.  He  was  never  good  at  business  de- 
tail and  although  that  patrimony  grew  beneath  his  hand 
it  was  rather  owing  to  his  great  creative  force  than  to  the 
excellency  of  his  business  administration.  He  was,  from 
time  to  time,  a  reckless  gambler  and  he  more  than  once 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  291 

put  so  heavy  a  strain  upon  his  resources  as  seriously  to 
endanger  his  financial  integrity.  It  is  not  a  wholly  happy 
story,  the  story  of  these  years  of  storm  and  stress,  but  its 
grosser  aspects  were  always  redeemed  by  the  deep  and 
unquenched  spiritual  passion  of  the  man. 

For  the  sake  possibly  of  his  health  and  certainly  for 
the  sake  of  his  fortune — he  was  deep  in  gambling  debts 
— as  well  as  to  escape  from  surroundings  all  too  full 
of  moral  temptation,  Tolstoy  went,  in  the  year  1 85 1,  into 
the  Caucasus.  The  names  of  the  places  he  visited  are  un- 
pronounceable, but  the  whole  experience  is  extraordi- 
narily picturesque.  He  entered  the  army  and  distin- 
guished himself  in  the  endless  border  warfare  which  was 
then  being  carried  on  with  the  Tatars.  He  was  not  yet 
a  commissioned  officer,  but  he  bore  himself  bravely  and 
was  three  times  in  the  way  of  receiving  the  St.  George's 
cross.  He  missed  it  in  each  instance  for  reasons  which 
do  him  no  discredit. 

He  now  began  his  long  career  as  an  author.  He 
wrote  from  first  to  last  largely  out  of  his  own  experi- 
ences. The  outstanding  masculine  characters  in  all  his 
novels  are  compelling  incarnations  of  his  many-sided 
personality.  His  first  work  is  a  study  in  childhood  so 
definitely  autobiographical  that  his  sister  Mary  who  knew 
nothing  of  her  brother's  venture  was  surprised  to  find 
recognizable  incident  after  incident  in  the  story  as  she 
read  it  in  a  Russian  magazine.  He  was  recognized 
directly  by  those  to  whom  he  submitted  his  earlier  writ- 
ings as  an  author  of  unusual  promise.  They  knew  that 
a  new  force  had  begun  to  display  itself  in  Russian  litera- 
ture ;  they  could  hardly  then  have  known  that  a  new 
force  was  beginning  in  the  world's  literature.  This  is  no 
place  for  any  full  estimate  of  Tolstoy  as  a  writer  ;  such 


292      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

estimates  have  been  made  by  the  greatest  critics  of  our 
times  and  may  easily  be  found.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
Tolstoy  has  exercised  the  profoundest  of  influences  upon 
modern  literature.  He  has  not  been  alone  in  this,  I 
mean,  that  is,  that  his  Russian  contemporaries  have  been 
co-contributors  with  him,  and  it  would  be  truer  perhaps 
to  say  that  the  group  in  which  Tolstoy  is  easily  the  most 
commanding  figure  became,  after  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  a  new  point  of  departure  for  modern 
literature.  Realism  really  came  into  action  with  these 
men. 

Tolstoy  writes  always  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  with 
great  reserve  and  with  an  almost  brutal  fidelity  to  every 
kind  of  fact.  He  never  softens  or  obscures.  He  knows 
the  literary  value  of  the  disagreeable  and  always  calls  a 
spade  a  spade.  He  so  secures  an  unfailing  vividness, 
sometimes  charming,  sometimes  searching,  sometimes 
disagreeable,  sordid,  brutal,  but  the  power  is  never  want- 
ing. Take  for  example  this  fragment  of  conversation. 
He  is  speaking  of  death  and  how  when  one  really  stands 
face  to  face  with  it  it  loses  its  terror.  He  speaks  out  of 
his  own  experience.  He  had,  at  one  time,  been  shooting 
in  the  snow  and,  with  a  wholly  characteristic  indiffer- 
ence to  another  man's  advice,  he  neglected  to  trample 
down  the  snow  about  him  so  as  to  secure  space  for  free 
movement.  Half  buried  he  was  attacked  by  a  bear 
which  came  near  ending  his  distinguished  career  then  and 
there  and  left  for  long  the  marks  of  its  teeth  upon  his  face. 
He  was  saved  almost  by  a  miracle.  Now  these  are  the 
conditions  under  which  men  are  supposedly  not  carefully 
observant  of  detail,  yet  such  was  the  quality  of  Tolstoy's 
mind  that  he  saw  it  all  with  a  vast  deal  more  than  the 
fidelity  of  the  best  camera  and  he  was  able,  many  years 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  293 

after,  to  paint  this  picture  of  the  whole  incident.  **  I  re- 
member once,  when  a  bear  attacked  me  and  pressed  me 
down  under  him,  driving  the  claws  of  his  enormous  paw 
into  my  shoulder,  I  felt  no  pain.  I  lay  under  him  and 
looked  into  his  warm,  large  mouth,  with  its  wet,  white 
teeth.  He  breathed  above  me,  and  I  saw  how  he  turned  his 
head  to  get  into  position  to  bite  into  both  my  temples  at 
once ;  and  in  his  hurry,  or  from  excited  appetite,  he  made 
a  trial  snap  in  the  air  just  above  my  head,  and  again 
opened  his  mouth — that  red,  wet,  hungry  mouth,  drip- 
ping with  saliva.  I  felt  I  was  about  to  die,  and  looked 
into  the  depths  of  that  mouth  as  one  condemned  to  exe- 
cution looks  into  the  grave  dug  for  him.  I  looked,  and  I 
remember  that  I  felt  no  fear  or  dread.  I  saw  with  one 
eye,  beyond  the  outline  of  that  mouth,  a  patch  of  blue 
sky  gleaming  between  purple  clouds  roughly  piled  on  one 
another,  and  I  thought  how  lovely  it  was  up  there."  * 
Nothing  is  wanting  here :  he  sees  the  wet,  white  teeth 
of  the  beast  and  the  serene  splendour  of  piled  up  clouds 
with  the  same  searching  and  retentive  vision.  Now 
these  are  the  very  qualities  which  give  a  lonely  and  un- 
approachable character  to  his  great  descriptions. 

His  sense  of  the  earth  and  earthy  is  always  much  in 
evidence.  It  would  be  possible  to  separate  out  of  all  his 
writing  a  mass  of  hard  and  repulsive  deHneations,  dealing 
remorselessly  with  elemental  things  and  saved  from  the 
atmosphere  of  the  dissecting  room  only  by  his  great  lit- 
erary art  and  his  unrivalled  powers  of  portrayal,  but  above 
and  beyond  this  is  always  something  better.  He 
sought,  even  in  his  most  pitiless  realism,  the  regions  of 
the  ideal.  He  sees,  at  the  same  time,  the  tooth  of  the 
beast,  the  patch  of  blue  sky  and  the  purple  clouds.     His 

>"The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  II,  p.  74. 


294      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

art  was  from  the  first  but  the  instrument  of  his  human- 
ity and  his  humanity  deepened  with  the  years,  though 
towards  the  end  it  grew  very  stern  and  sad. 

We  have  followed,  in  the  course  of  these  studies,  the 
quest  for  peace  into  many  unexpected  regions  and 
strange.  In  Tolstoy  we  trace  it  through  modern  realism, 
the  dissecting  room  and  sometimes  almost  the  sewer. 
But  because  the  passion  for  the  quest  never  fails  and  the 
humanity  of  the  man  rests  like  light  upon  all  the  vast 
movement  of  his  life,  his  realism  is  always  redeemed  and 
the  suggestions  of  an  ultimate  dawn  are  always  breaking 
through  his  shadows.  Mr.  William  Dean  Howells,  who 
has  been  mightily  influenced  by  Tolstoy  and  more  than 
any  one  else  has  sought  to  justify  his  art  to  America, 
tests  him  by  just  this  test.  "  It  is  Tolstoy's  humanity 
which  is  the  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art  in  his  imagina- 
tive work.  It  does  not  reach  merely  the  poor  and  the 
suffering ;  it  extends  to  the  prosperous  and  the  proud, 
and  does  not  deny  itself  to  the  guilty.  .  .  .  Tolstoy 
has  said  of  the  fiction  of  Maupassant  that  the  whole  truth 
can  never  be  immoral ;  and  in  his  own  work  I  have  felt 
that  it  could  never  be  anything  but  moral."  * 

Such  qualities  as  these  save  Tolstoy  and  his  readers 
from  consequences  which  are  always  implicit  in  realism, 
for  the  whole  test  of  such  literature  is  its  redemptive 
power.  We  may  follow  men  in  all  their  faults  and  fail- 
ures down  into  the  depths  if  only  we  are  not  left  in  the 
depths,  nay  if  we  are  led  there  simply  to  discover  the 
first  far  off  and  unexpected  beginnings  of  a  redemptive 
process,  but  if  there  is  no  redemption  and  we  are  left  in 
the  mire,  nothing  has  been  accomplished  and  we  have  de- 
serted the  clean  light-filled  upper  reaches  of  life  in  vain. 
^  "  The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  p.  441. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  295 

Indeed  we  are  fortunate  if  we  have  not  so  weighed  down 
all  the  powers  by  which  we  rise  as  to  be  unable  to  reach 
the  heights  again.  Tolstoy's  tools  have  always  been  apt 
to  turn  in  hands  less  strong  and  sure  than  his.  Realism 
has,  for  a  generation  now,  been  widening  into  unex- 
pected quarters  and  has  given  an  unhappy  quality  to 
much  contemporaneous  literature.  Men,  and  women 
too,  have  learned  from  the  great  Russian  to  describe  the 
unlovely,  discuss  the  disagreeable,  deal  with  the  stained 
and  set  their  little  stage  with  figures  moved  by  false  and 
unholy  desires  whom,  having  created,  they  have  not 
been  able  to  redeem.  More  unhappily,  still  others  seem 
to  love  the  dissecting  room  and  the  sewer ;  they  dwell 
upon  the  morbid  and  the  unrighteous  with  perverted 
imaginations  which  exalt  that  which  ought  to  be  debased 
and  debase  that  which  ought  to  be  exalted.  I  wonder, 
said  Lowell  in  substance  speaking  of  just  these  aspects  of 
our  literature,  why  men  go  down  into  the  cellar  to  live 
when  they  might  dwell  in  those  fair  upper  chambers 
whose  windows  look  towards  the  sunrise  of  the  resurrec- 
tion. Tolstoy  was  saved  all  this  by  the  persistent  re- 
fusal of  his  soul  to  dwell  in  the  cellar,  by  the  passion  for 
the  upper  chamber  and  its  windows  of  vision  which  held 
him  steadily  to  the  end. 

In  fighting,  writing  and  hunting  Tolstoy's  three  years 
in  the  Caucasus  spent  themselves.  He  came  back  home 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Russo-Turkish  war  and  since  he 
had  not  become  a  commissioned  officer  he  was  ordered 
immediately  to  the  army  of  the  Danube.  In  the  cam- 
paign which  followed  he  shared  first-hand  the  manifold 
experiences  of  a  great  European  war.  We  owe  a  vast 
deal  to  these  experiences.  Tolstoy  made  war  upon  war 
unceasingly,  without  pity,  and  without  qualification  ;  he 


296      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

neither  gave  nor  accepted  quarter.  His  own  military  ex- 
periences put  powerful  weapons  into  his  hands  ;  he  had 
seen  the  thing  about  which  he  wrote.  He  stripped  war 
bare  of  all  the  garmenture  of  glamour  with  which  the 
imaginations  of  men  have,  since  the  beginning  of  time, 
clothed  it  and  showed  it  naked  in  its  besieged  trenches 
or  upon  the  death-strewn  fields  of  victory  or  defeat.  It 
is  something  more  than  a  coincidence  that  we  owe  to  a 
Russian  writer  as  we  owe  to  a  great  Russian  painter — 
Verestchagin — pictures  of  battle-fields  terrible  in  their 
searching  veracity.  Very  likely  Tolstoy  has  left  out 
something  here  as  in  so  many  other  regions ;  a  battle- 
field is  not  all  death  and  grizzly  terror.  Battle-fields  have 
also  been  the  home  of  great  devotions,  radiant  revela- 
tions of  courage  and  a  passion  and  willingness  to  submit 
loyalties  and  convictions  to  the  last  supreme  arbitrament 
which  have  lifted  men  above  their  clay  and  made  death- 
less the  places  where  they  have  dared  to  die.  Tolstoy 
does  not  greatly  dwell  upon  all  this :  his  hatred  of  the 
whole  unreasonable  and  unveracious  way  of  deciding 
questions  which  might  otherwise  be  decided  blinded  him 
to  everything  except  the  cost,  the  tragedy  and  the  un- 
reasonableness of  it  all.  You  have  only  to  put  side  by 
side  Tennyson's  poem  "  The  Charge  of  the  Five  Hun- 
dred "  and  Tolstoy's  merciless  descriptions  of  the  siege  of 
Sebastopol  to  see  at  once  the  elemental  difference  in  their 
points  of  view.  The  poet  was  never  nearer  a  battle-field 
than  to  dream  in  English  meadows,  ripe  with  an  immemo- 
rial peace,  though  truly  he  saw  some  things  to  which  the 
smoke  of  the  batteries  of  the  Fourth  Bastion  blinded 
Tolstoy.  We  need  to  stand  far  back  from  the  play  of 
life's  elemental  forces  to  discern  their  meaning  as  we 
need  to  be  very  close  to  them  to  appreciate  their  cost. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  297 

The  first  of  his  war  sketches  commended  itself  to  the 
whole  Russian  people  and  one  of  the  unexpected  results 
of  it  was  an  order  from  the  Czar,  Alexander  II, 
"  to  take  care  of  the  life  of  that  young  man."  He  was 
removed  from  Sebastopol  and  assigned  to  a  less  dangerous 
service.  When  the  full  consequences  of  his  portrayal  of 
war  began  to  be  made  evident  in  later  articles  the  pen  of 
the  Russian  censor  bore  heavily  upon  them  and  Tolstoy's 
hope  of  military  promotion  was  effectually  ended.  The 
suspicion  that  he  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  certain  slangy 
topical  songs  much  thought  of  in  the  army,  in  which  the 
whole  Russian  conduct  of  the  campaign  was  dealt  with 
most  irreverently,  deepened  the  disfavour  in  which  he  was 
held  in  high  military  quarters. 

At  the  end  of  the  war  he  visited  Europe  for  the  first 
time.  The  isolation  of  Russia  even  so  late  as  the  middle 
of  the  last  century  is  indicated  in  such  a  statement ;  when 
a  Russian  travelled  towards  the  west  he  went  from  Russia 
to  Europe.  He  sums  up  his  Parisian  experiences  almost 
in  a  sentence.  The  memory  of  Paris  which  dwelt  with 
him  longest  was  the  memory  of  an  execution  which  he 
saw,  the  vision  of  which  came  up  years  after  to  reenforce 
his  moral  judgments  and  lend  graphic  power  to  his  indict- 
ment of  modern  society.  He  was,  nevertheless,  in- 
fluenced in  a  multitude  of  ways  by  the  freer  culture  of 
France  and  Germany.  His  experiences  made  him  more 
completely  a  citizen  of  the  world. 

After  the  death  of  his  brother,  Nicholas,  he  returned  to 
Russia  and  to  his  country  estate.  He  was  for  a  little 
while  "  arbitrator  of  the  peace,"  umpire,  that  is,  between 
the  landlords  and  the  serfs  in  all  the  endless  adjustments 
which  the  new  policy  of  emancipation  demanded. 
Tolstoy's  mind  was  really  judicial  in  its  higher  regions, 


298      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

but  his  dealing  with  details  was  never  satisfactory  and 
one  is  not  surprised  to  learn  that  he  presently  resigned 
to  his  own  satisfaction  certainly,  and  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  landlords  without  much  doubt.  He  now  began 
certain  interesting  experiences  in  education  with  the 
peasant  children.  He  really  anticipated  the  Montessori 
methods  and  secured  unexpected  results  by  allowing  free 
play  to  the  boys  and  girls  whom  he  led.  He  was  always 
impatient  of  discipline,  always  trusted  everything  to  the 
individual,  and  his  educational  experiences,  we  must 
confess,  justified  this  faith.  His  lack  of  discipline 
would  have  driven  a  trained  schoolmaster  wild, 
but  the  response  of  the  children  was  such  as  any 
schoolmaster  would  be  happy  to  secure.  There  are  no 
more  delightful  pages  in  Tolstoy's  life  than  the  chapters 
which  picture  his  free  and  stimulating  comradeship  with 
the  children  of  the  Russian  peasants,  and  which, 
incidentally,  give  us  also  a  vivid  portrayal  of  many  of 
the  conditions  of  peasant  life. 

Here,  as  in  other  dealings  with  the  Russian  peasantry, 
Tolstoy  discovered  the  unsuspected  powers  of  narration 
which  the  peasant  often  possesses.  More  than  once  he 
found  them  retelling  the  stories  which  he  had  told  them 
with  a  vivid  effectiveness  beyond  his  own  compass,  and 
more  than  once  he  gave  these  same  stories  to  the  world 
in  the  form  which  the  peasants  themselves  had  suggested. 
All  this  throws  an  unexpected  light  upon  the  processes 
by  which  folk  stories  are  fashioned  and  helps  us  to  under- 
stand how  such  tales,  handed  on  from  generation  to 
generation,  shaped  by  the  accretions  of  numberless 
retellings,  finally  attain  a  perfection  of  form  combined 
with  a  directness  of  statement  which  puts  them  in  a  class 
apart.     Tolstoy  found  Russian  literature  sadly  wanting 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  299 

in  proper  material  for  children's  readers  and  he  began  a 
series  of  primary  text-books  in  literature  which  have 
become  part  of  the  permanent  possession  of  the  Russian 
people  and  which  are,  even  now,  being  issued  in  cheap 
editions  and  by  the  hundred  thousand.  He  also  wrote 
articles  on  education,  revolutionary  as  is  most  of  his  work, 
grudgingly  received  in  Russia  as  most  of  his  work  has 
been,  but  anticipating,  at  the  same  time,  much  which  has 
become  the  commonplace  of  modern  educational  methods. 

On  the  twenty-third  of  September,  1862,  Tolstoy  was 
married  to  Sophia  Behrs.  True  to  his  revolutionary  soul, 
which  never  permitted  him  to  follow  the  more  travelled 
paths,  Tolstoy  proposed  to  the  woman  who  was  to  become 
his  wife  by  writing  the  initial  letters  of  certain  sentences 
upon  cards,  so  challenging  the  young  woman  to  read  his 
thoughts  rather  than  his  words.  She  did  just  that  with 
an  insight  which  bears  more  than  a  negligible  testimony 
to  mutual  intimacies  of  feeling.  Before  their  marriage 
Tolstoy  gave  to  Miss  Behrs  his  diary,  in  which  the  moral 
derelictions  of  years,  searching  and  unhappy  self-judg- 
ments and  the  record  of  unassuaged  discontents,  were 
woven  into  such  a  body  of  self-confession  and  self-estimate 
as  few  young  women  have  been  asked  to  read  upon  tlie 
eve  of  their  marriage.  It  cost  her  a  sleepless  night  and 
she  stained  its  pages  with  her  tears,  but  she  gave  it  back 
to  him  and  forgave  the  past.  Tolstoy  made  confession, 
received  the  eucharist  and  was  married  according  to  the 
rites  of  the  Greek  Church. 

One  may  anticipate  here  much  which  should  be  con- 
sidered later  by  saying  that  Tolstoy  could  have  chosen 
no  worthier  woman.  Having  chosen  her  he  called  upon 
her  to  bear  heavy  burdens.  She  became  the  mother  of 
many  children  and  as  the  travail  of  Tolstoy's  soul  grew 


300      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

more  intense  her  life  was  often  lonely  and  she  found  her- 
self sadly  perplexed.  At  the  time  of  his  greatest  spiritual 
stress  Tolstoy  ignored  every  interest  in  life  except  the 
concern  of  his  own  soul  and  there  are  few  more  moving 
passages  in  modern  biography  than  the  story  of  the  day 
in  which  Tolstoy,  in  his  intensity  of  spiritual  labour,  turned 
his  back  upon  his  wife  then  in  labour  with  one  of  their 
daughters  and  went  out  of  the  house  uncertain  whether 
he  should  ever  return.  But  there  are  always  reconcilia- 
tions and  one  feels  that  although  the  Countess  was  called 
upon  to  drink  such  bitter  waters  as  the  wives  of  geniuses 
have  almost  always  been  called  upon  to  taste,  their 
marriage,  none  the  less,  was  truly  happy  and  where  it 
failed  in  happiness  was  fruitful  in  blessedness.  In  all 
likelihood  she  brought  more  to  Tolstoy  than  he  brought 
to  her  and  we  have  no  right  to  forget  the  woman  who, 
with  a  brave,  fine  spirit,  endured  and  reenforced  and 
served  him  through  many  troubled  years. 

She  became,  in  the  end,  his  publisher,  looked  after  his 
copyrights  and  secured  for  the  Tolstoy  children  some  of 
the  fruits  of  their  father's  literary  toil.  For  years  Tol- 
stoy's copyrights  and  translations  were  in  a  welter  of 
confusion.  A  very  great  deal  which  he  wrote — sub- 
stantially the  whole  body  of  his  later  writing — was  never 
allowed  to  be  published  in  Russia.  His  books  were  pub- 
lished as  might  be  in  Western  Europe,  but  he  took  no 
pains  to  secure  competent  translators  or  to  assign  the 
rights  of  translation  to  dependable  publishing  houses. 
As  a  result  his  works  were  badly  translated,  badly  pub- 
lished and  it  is  only  very  recently  that  we  have  begun  to 
get  dependable  translations  of  his  writings.  He  received, 
at  the  best,  only  a  fraction  of  the  financial  returns  to 
which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  have  been 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  301 

entitled,  though  that  fraction  was  so  large  as  probably  to 
have  saved  his  family  from  really  sore  need,  secured  the 
education  of  his  children  and  maintained  the  expensive 
establishments  which  the  Countess  kept  up  at  Yasnaya 
Polyana  and  Moscow,  and  all  this  was  more  largely  due 
to  the  Countess  than  any  one  else. 

About  the  time  of  his  marriage,  a  little  before  or  after, 
Tolstoy  secured  large  holdings  of  land  in  western  Russia; 
these  holdings  increased  greatly  in  value  although  they 
were  always  administered  in  a  hit  or  miss  kind  of  fashion. 
When  Tolstoy  was  minded  to  give  attention  to  earthly 
affairs  he  had  really  a  large,  sound  business  sense,  but  he 
was  hopeless  and  helpless  in  the  matter  of  detail  and  ad- 
ministration. This  practical  helplessness  coloured  his  so- 
cial judgments  and  makes  him  an  ill  guide  to  follow  in 
all  his  more  positive  proposals  for  social  regeneration. 
Very  likely  the  roots  of  it  all  are  temperamental ;  Tol- 
stoy was  temperamentally  an  anarchist,  in  the  philosoph- 
ical sense,  that  is.  He  trusted  everything  to  the  individual, 
constantly  underestimated  the  necessity  and  value  of 
common  action,  hated  government,  though  there  is  reason 
enough  for  that  (all  Russia  would  hate  government,  one 
would  think),  and  trusted  to  individual  initiative  for  re- 
sults which  individual  initiative  is  totally  unable  to  secure. 
Tolstoy's  anarchy  broke  down  in  the  administration  of 
his  own  affairs  ;  they  were  saved  again  and  again  by  the 
practical  sense  of  his  wife.  They  would  have  broken 
down  so  much  the  more  certainly  and  tragically  in  a 
larger  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  world.  All 
this  is  to  anticipate,  for  much  which  is  here  dismissed  did 
not  develop  until  later. 

Between  his  marriage  and  his  rebirth  Tolstoy  published 
his  greatest  novels  :  "  Anna  Karenina  "  and  "  War  and 


302      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

Peace."  These  stories  effectually  established  his  place  in 
literature ;  had  he  done  nothing  else  he  would  still  re- 
main one  of  the  greatest  novelists,  not  only  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  but  of  all  time.  His  novels  are  some- 
thing more  than  novels  ;  they  are  sections  of  human  life, 
slow  in  movement,  vast  in  their  inclusiveness.  •*  War  and 
Peace  "  is  really  a  picture  of  Russian  society  from  Auster- 
litz  to  the  overthrow  of  Napoleon.  So  many  characters 
move  across  its  pages  that  they  are  difficult  to  follow  and 
one  loses  again  and  again  the  movement  of  the  story  in 
its  amplification.  He  writes  as  a  hater  of  war,  the  re- 
vealer  of  the  deep  forces  which  make  and  remake  the  na- 
tions. His  Napoleon  is  a  blind  puppet,  an  almost  pitiful 
figure  who  has  invoked  powers  which  he  cannot  control, 
riding  helplessly  upon  the  wings  of  the  storm  which  he 
has  raised  until  those  wings  fail  him  and  he  is  dashed  to 
the  ground.  The  Russian  peasant  fighting  for  his  father- 
land is,  in  Tolstoy's  conception,  mightier  than  the  em- 
peror. Napoleon  is  an  accident ;  the  forces  which  de- 
feat him  are  elemental. 

During  all  these  years  Tolstoy's  life  was  eager,  mani- 
fold in  its  activities  and  successful.  Child  after  child  is 
born  to  him,  his  station  is  assured,  his  literary  creativity 
apparently  inexhaustible,  but  beneath  the  surface  strange 
forces  were  at  work,  signs  of  which  had  never  been 
wanting.  His  higher  or  deeper  self,  as  one  will,  had 
always  sat  in  judgment  upon  the  self  of  pleasure  and  ac- 
tivity. He  found  no  peace  in  activities  and  relationships 
which  most  men  would  have  judged  most  fruitful  and 
satisfying,  and  while  he  wore  himself  out  in  manifold  ac- 
tivities his  soul  still  followed  the  gleam.  Everything  con- 
spired to  drive  him  on.  The  Russia  of  the  seventies 
and  eighties  was  stirred  to  its  depths.     All  the  past  of 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  303 

Russian  history  had  conspired  to  give  to  the  Russian 
government  its  arbitrary  and  autocratic  form.  The 
people  had  no  voice  in  the  control  of  their  affairs ;  the 
state  was  ridden  by  a  bureaucracy  while  beneath  all  the 
show  of  imperial  magnificence  was  the  welter  of  a  people 
sunk  deep  in  economic  misery  and  the  spiritual  stir  of  a 
race  which  has  always  married  to  its  sterner  and  more 
brutal  qualities  vast  devotions,  great  tendernesses  and  an 
endless  capacity  for  dreaming  dreams  and  seeing  visions. 
Such  a  condition  could  not  forever  endure.  Almost 
everything  in  contemporaneous  Russian  life  challenged 
every  earnest  and  clear  thinking  man  and  burdened  him 
with  a  sense  of  the  utter  inadequacy  of  the  order  of 
which  he  was  a  part.  Tolstoy  was  not  only  the  citizen 
of  a  state  even  then  beginning  to  be  tortured  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  dual  tendencies,  but  he  himself  was  a  dual 
nature.  "Already  in  1875  Mihaylovsky  had  published  a 
remarkable  series  of  articles  on  *  The  Right  and  Left  Hand 
of  Count  Tolstoy,'  in  which  he  pointed  out  that  that 
author's  works  reveal  the  clash  of  contrary  ideals  and 
tendencies  in  the  writer's  soul,  and  that  especially  his 
educational  articles  contain  ideals  quite  in  conflict  with 
certain  tendencies  noticeable  in  *  War  and  Peace.'  With 
remarkable  prevision  Mihaylovsky  predicted  an  inevitable 
crisis  in  Tolstoy's  life  and  added  :  One  asks  oneself  what 
such  a  man  is  to  do,  and  how  he  is  to  hve?  .  .  .  I  think 
an  ordinary  man  in  such  a  position  would  end  by  suicide 
or  drunkenness ;  but  a  man  of  worth  will  seek  for  other 
issues — and  of  these  there  are  several."  * 

These    then    were   the   forces   which   drove   Tolstoy 
remorselessly  on  :  an  exterior  world  in  which  no  right- 
thinking  man  had  any  right  to  be  content;  an  interior 
*  ••The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  p.  395. 


304      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

world  which  had  not  yet  organized  itself  in  either  peace 
or  power  upon  the  high  levels  to  which  his  better  self  was 
always  urging  him.  We  see  directly  how  the  great  human 
experiences  constantly  repeat  themselves.  Tolstoy's  feet 
are  already  set — had  indeed  long  been  set — upon  the  way 
of  the  mystics.  He  was  now  about  to  enter  the  stage  of 
purgation.  Temperamental  forces,  of  course,  are  here 
much  in  evidence ;  nowhere  do  men  differ  so  widely  as 
in  their  attitudes  towards  the  complex  elements  which 
enter  into  their  lives.  Multitudes  of  men  are  always  and 
unquestionably  content  to  dwell  upon  the  lower  levels ; 
they  surrender  without  protest  their  high  estate,  live  and 
die,  seemingly  without  travail  or  inner  protest,  upon  levels 
which  are  far,  far  short  of  the  best.  A  good  many  men 
seem  able  to  maintain  themselves  upon  the  conventional 
levels  "  of  reason,  order,  decency  and  use  "  ;  still  others  are 
gradually  pushed  from  such  respectable  stations  down  all 
the  passes  of  that  weary  road  which  leads  to  darkness. 
From  time  to  time  we  are  vouchsafed  the  vision  of  those 
who  seem  born  citizens  of  the  highest ;  they  do  not  strive 
nor  cry  aloud  ;  their  voice  is  not  heard  in  the  streets  ;  they 
simply  come  home,  quietly,  directly,  with  no  conflict 
which  other  men  at  least  may  discern,  to  the  high  habita- 
tions of  the  soul.  They  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles 
and  where  we  falter  through  the  shadows  they  pass  in 
radiant  certitudes.  But  there  are  others  still — and  all  our 
studies  have  had  to  deal  with  such — who  will  not  sur- 
render to  the  lowest  and  who  cannot  attain  the  highest 
except  in  sore  agonies  of  spiritual  endeavour.  Intima- 
tions are  not  wanting  even  in  Tolstoy's  earliest  self- 
revelation  of  such  a  sore  conflict  and  yet  he  would  have 
been  a  rare  prophet  who  could  have  anticipated  at  the 
time  of  Tolstoy's   marriage,  or  even  a  decade  later,  the 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  305 

forms  which  that  conflict  were  to  take,  the  bitter  intensity 
of  it,  its  wearied  duration  and  its  outcome.  When  the 
time  came  he  laid  bare  his  soul  in  his  "  Confession  "  and 
there  we  may  trace  it  all,  step  by  step. 

He  writes,  as  has  already  been  said,  with  the  utmost 
restraint,  with  a  Doric  simplicity,  and  yet  with  passionate 
intensity.  From  time  to  time  the  subterranean  fires  break 
through  ;  you  are  always  conscious  of  their  presence.  The 
early  pages  of  the  '♦  Confession  "  record  the  decay  of  an 
inherited  faith  which  had  really  never  gripped  his  soul  and 
is  one  more  chapter  in  the  story  of  that  twilight  of  the 
gods  whose  shadow  has  fallen  deeply  across  so  many  men 
and  women  in  the  last  two  generations,  whose  recital 
lends  haunting  melancholy  to  wide  reaches  of  contempo- 
raneous literature.  Like  all  his  comrades,  Tolstoy's 
"  cradle  faith  "  died  of  inanition.  *'  Thus,  now  as  then,  the 
religious  teaching,  which  is  accepted  through  confidence 
and  is  supported  through  external  pressure,  slowly  melts 
under  the  influence  of  knowledge  and  the  experiences 
of  life,  which  are  contrary  to  the  religious  teaching,  and 
a  man  frequently  goes  on  imagining  that  the  religious 
teaching  with  which  he  has  been  imbued  in  childhood  is 
in  full  force  in  him,  whereas  there  is  not  even  a  trace  left 
of  it."  *  It  is  a  bitter  day  when  a  man  comes  to  bear 
his  weight  upon  inherited  convictions  and  finds  they  will 
not  support  him. 

He   tells    of    his    friends'    experiences,    for   example: 

"  S ,  an  intelligent  and  truthful  man,  told  me  how  he 

came  to  stop  believing.  When  he  was  twent}'-six  years 
old  he  once  at  a  night's  rest  during  the  chase  followed 
his  old  habit,  acquired  in  his  childhood,  and  stood  up  to 
pray.  His  elder  brother,  who  took  part  in  the  cha?e,  was 
*<'My  Confession,"  Tolstoy,  Beacon  Edition,  p.  5. 


306      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

lying  on  the  hay  and  looking  at  him.     When  S got 

through  and  was  about  to  lie  down,  he  said  to  him : 
*  So  you  are  still  doing  these  things  ?  *     That  was  all  that 

was  said.     And  S that  very  day  quit  praying  and 

attending  church.  Thirty  years  have  passed  since  he 
stopped  praying,  receiving  the  communion,  and  going  to 
church.  Not  that  he  knew  the  convictions  of  his  brother 
and  had  joined  them,  not  that  he  had  decided  on  any- 
thing in  his  mind,  but  only  because  the  sentence  which 
his  brother  had  uttered  was  like  the  pressure  exerted 
with  a  finger  against  a  wall  which  was  ready  to  fall  of  its 
own  weight;  the  sentence  was  merely  an  indication  that 
where  he  thought  there  was  faith  there  had  long  been  a 
vacant  spot,  and  that,  therefore,  the  words  which  he 
spoke  and  the  signs  of  the  cross  and  the  obeisances  which 
he  made  during  his  praying  were  quite  meaningless 
actions.  Since  he  had  come  to  recognize  their  meaning- 
lessness,  he  could  not  keep  them  up  any  longer."  * 

With  nothing  to  sustain  him  except  a  passion  for  per- 
fection unrelated  to  transforming  and  redeeming  powers, 
Tolstoy  entered,  he  tells  us,  upon  bitter  and  sterile  years. 
*'  I  cannot  recall  those  years  without  dread,  loathing,  and 
anguish  of  heart.  I  killed  people  in  war  and  challenged 
to  duels  to  kill ;  I  lost  money  at  cards,  wasting  the  labour 
of  the  peasants,  .  .  .  Lying,  stealing,  acts  of  lust  of 
every  description,  drunkenness,  violence,  murder — there 
was  not  a  crime  which  I  did  not  commit,  and  for  all  that 
I  was  praised,  and  my  contemporaries  have  regarded  me 
as  a  comparatively  moral  man."  ' 

He  found  nothing  in  the  standards  and  ideals  of  his 
contemporaries  either  to  correct  or  inspire  him ;  they 
were  all  alike  wanting  in  any  real  vision  of  the  meaning 

*  "  My  Confession,"  Tolstoy,  Beacon  Edition,  pp.  5,  6.     '  Ibid.^  p.  8. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  307 

of  life.  Literary  activities  brought  him  no  release ;  his 
stars  were  blotted  out  and  the  deep  weariness  of  life 
weighed  increasingly  upon  him.  Life  had  lost  its  mean- 
ings, its  compulsions,  its  justifications.  The  question 
"  why "  hung  like  a  portent  across  all  his  horizons. 
«*  The  truth  was  that  life  was  meaningless.  It  was  as 
though  I  had  just  been  living  and  walking  along,  and 
had  come  to  an  abyss,  where  I  saw  clearly  that  there  was 
nothing  ahead  but  perdition.  And  it  was  impossible  to 
stop  and  go  back,  and  impossible  to  shut  my  eyes,  in 
order  that  I  might  not  see  that  there  was  nothing  ahead 
but  suffering  and  imminent  death, — complete  annihila- 
tion.'" 

He  found  a  strange  and  vivid  commentary  upon  his 
situation  in  the  Eastern  story  about  the  traveller  who,  in 
the  steppe,  was  overtaken  by  an  infuriated  beast.  "  Trx- 
ing  to  save  himself  from  the  animal,  the  traveller  jumps 
into  a  waterless  well,  but  at  its  bottom  he  sees  a  dragon 
who  opens  his  jaws  in  order  to  swallow  him.  And  the 
unfortunate  man  does  not  dare  climb  out,  lest  he  perish 
from  the  infuriated  beast,  and  does  not  dare  jump  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  well,  lest  he  be  devoured  by  the 
dragon,  and  so  clutches  the  twig  of  a  wild  bush  growing 
in  a  cleft  of  the  well  and  holds  on  to  it.  His  hands  grow 
weak  and  he  feels  that  soon  he  shall  have  to  surrender  to 
the  peril  which  awaits  him  at  either  side  ;  but  he  still 
holds  on  and  sees  two  mice,  one  white,  the  other  black, 
in  even  measure  making  a  circle  around  tlie  main  trunk 
of  the  bush  to  which  he  is  clinging,  and  nibbling  at  it  on 
all  sides.  Now,  at  any  moment,  the  bush  will  break  and 
tear  off,  and  he  will  fall  into  the  dragon's  jaws.  The 
traveller  sees  that  and  knows  that  he  will  inevitably 
*"  My  Confession,"  Tolstoy,  Beacon  Edition,  p.  19. 


3o8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

perish ;  but  while  he  is  still  clinging,  he  sees  some  drops 
of  honey  hanging  on  the  leaves  of  the  bush,  and  so 
reaches  out  for  them  with  his  tongue  and  licks  the  leaves. 
Just  so  I  hold  on  to  the  branch  of  life,  knowing  that  the 
dragon  of  death  is  waiting  inevitably  for  me,  ready  to 
tear  me  to  pieces,  and  I  cannot  understand  why  I  have 
fallen  on  such  suffering.  And  I  try  to  lick  that  honey 
which  used  to  give  me  pleasure ;  but  now  it  no  longer 
gives  me  joy,  and  the  white  and  the  black  mouse  day  and 
night  nibble  at  the  branch  to  which  I  am  holding  on. 
I  clearly  see  the  dragon,  and  the  honey  is  no  longer 
sweet  to  me.  I  see  only  the  inevitable  dragon  and  the 
mice,  and  am  unable  to  turn  my  glance  away  from  them. 
That  is  not  a  fable  but  a  veritable,  indisputable,  compre- 
hensible truth."  * 

Such  a  tragic  impotence  is  never  wanting — at  a  cen- 
tral stage — in  the  lives  of  men  upon  whom  the  quest 
lays  its  searching  touch.  Many  men  have  also  stood 
upon  what  Hutton  calls  '•  the  last  shelf  of  things,  looking 
out  into  the  blankness."  Listen  to  Arthur  Christopher 
Benson,  whose  serene  meditations,  sent  out  volume  after 
volume  from  the  quiet  cloisters  of  Cambridge  or  from 
that  sequestered  grange  upon  which  the  towers  of  Ely 
look  down  and  up  to  whose  very  garden  walls  the  or- 
chards come  with  their  colour  and  their  perfume,  seem  as 
far  removed  from  the  tragedies  of  the  soul  as  college 
gardens  from  the  habitations  of  Begbie's  "  Twice  Born 
Men."  None  the  less  he,  also,  came  to  the  end  of  the 
road.  "  I  seemed  to  myself  like  a  man  who  has  wan- 
dered heedlessly  along  the  rocks  of  some  iron-bound 
coast,  with  the  precipices  above  him  on  one  hand  and 
the  sullen  sea  on  the  other  hand.  I  had  reached,  as  it 
1 '«  My  Confession,"  Tolstoy,  Beacon  Edition,  pp.  21,  22. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  309 

were,  a  ledge,  from  which  advance  and  retreat  seemed 
equally  impossible ;  the  cliff  overhead,  with  its  black  and 
dripping  crags,  was  too  steep  to  climb,  and  I  seemed 
to  be  waiting  for  the  onrush  of  some  huge  and  silent 
billow  from  the  bitter  surge  beneath.  I  was  at  bay  at 
last,  helpless  and  hopeless."  '  When  a  man  stands  on 
**  the  last  shelf  of  things,"  driven  from  behind,  there  is 
only  one  of  two  things  to  do ;  to  fling  oneself  out  either 
for  life  or  for  death. 

Tolstoy  seriously  contemplated  suicide  and  his  biogra- 
phers delight  to  show  us  just  the  beam  between  the  book 
shelves  in  the  library  where  he  meditated  hanging  him- 
self. "  And  it  was  then  that  I,  a  man  favoured  by  for- 
tune, hid  a  cord  from  myself,  lest  I  should  hang  myself 
from  the  crosspiece  of  the  partition  in  my  room,  where 
I  undressed  alone  every  evening ;  and  I  ceased  to  go  out 
shooting  with  a  gun,  lest  I  should  be  tempted  by  so  easy 
a  way  of  ending  my  life.  I  did  not  myself  know  what  I 
wanted  :  I  feared  life,  desired  to  escape  from  it,  yet  still 
hoped  something  of  it."  *  All  this  while  he  was  not  yet 
fifty,  happily  married,  a  man  of  large  fortune  and  inter- 
national fame.  But  Tolstoy's  hands  were  holden  by  the 
very  intensity  of  those  forces  which  hold  us  fast  to  life 
and,  since  he  could  not  choose  to  die,  he  must  learn  to 
live. 

Well,  there  is  this  one  thing  in  it  all :  if  a  man  stands 
on  "  the  last  shelf  of  things  "  and  throws  himself  out  on 
life  life  will  bear  him  up  and  life  has  its  own  compensa- 
tions, its  own  mystical  and  unfailing  reenforcements. 
We  are  always  being  taught  this.  From  time  to  time  in 
the  regions  of  speculation  men  have  stripped  themselves 

»  "Thy  Rod  and  Thy  Staff,"  Arthur  Christopher  Benson,  pp.  6i,  62. 
« "  The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  p.  402. 


310      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

as  bare  of  certainties  as  Tolstoy  and  his  kind  have  been 
stripped  bare  of  peace  and  power,  and  always,  when  doubt 
and  skepticism  have  led  them  to  the  brink  of  abysses  of 
negation  and  their  last  support  is  about  to  disappear, 
they  have  saved  themselves  by  cramping  their  slipping 
feet  against  some  ledge  of  reahty  and  therefrom  pain- 
fully climbing  towards  the  table-lands,  accepting  what  life 
offers  and  rebuilding  laboriously,  but  with  a  new  and  un- 
faihng  sense  of  security  and  power,  the  houses  of  their 
habitation,  the  temples  of  their  worship.  Curiously 
enough  when  such  houses  and  temples  are  finished  they 
are  very  like  those  from  which  they  had  moved  out,  but 
always  with  this  difference  :  their  foundations  have  been 
reestablished  in  those  certainties  beyond  which  we  cannot 
pass  and  deeper  than  which  we  cannot  delve.  Surely 
this  is  the  first  stage  in  the  new  birth:  to  begin  again 
with  nothing  at  all  except  life  itself.  It  is  worth  while 
at  any  cost  to  go  down  to  the  foundations  of  things.  We 
who  do  not  so  dare  or  are  not  so  driven  are  at  least  in 
debt  to  the  men  who  have  sounded  the  shadows  and  who 
come  back  to  testify  to  us  that  the  "  foundation  of  God 
standeth  sure,"  To  be  sure  those  who  make  this  dis- 
covery do  not  always  directly  discover  that  it  is  the  foun- 
dation of  God.  That  comes  later  as  the  light  begins  to 
rise. 

Tolstoy,  then,  came  in  his  agony  to  the  place  where  he 
really  had  to  choose  between  death  and  life  :  he  chose 
life  and  set  out  to  find  its  meanings.  Then  he  found  di- 
rectly, as  we  all  find,  that  as  the  day  so  shall  our  strength 
be.  Life  offered  him  enough  to  go  on  with  and  the 
further  he  went  the  stronger  and  more  wonderful  it  be- 
came. He  sought  the  guidance  of  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  men  ;  he  asked  many  questions  of  the  leaders  of 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  311 

the  Greek  Church.  He  consorted  with  peasants  and 
sought  their  point  of  view  who  see  hfe  most  simply  and 
elementally  unconfused  by  learning,  possessions  or  re- 
sponsibility ;  and  he  found,  he  confesses,  most  help  from 
those  who  approach  life  most  simply  and  bravely.  He 
got  no  help  from  those  dreamers  whose  final  verdict  is 
"  vanity  of  vanities  ;  all  is  vanity."  They  were  wanting, 
we  see  clearly  enough  and  he  felt  clearly  enough,  in  the 
very  first  condition  of  escape :  and  that  is  the  will  to 
live.  Life  will  not  yield  its  meanings  to  those  who  de- 
spair of  understanding  them.  When  Christian  was  locked 
up  with  Hopeful  in  Doubting  Castle  he  discovered  one 
day  that  he  was  a  fool  so  to  lie  in  a  stinking  dungeon 
when  he  might  as  well  have  been  walking  at  liberty,  for 
he  had  all  the  while  a  key  in  his  bosom  which  would 
open  any  lock  in  Doubting  Castle.  He  called  that  the 
key  of  promise.  We  may  call  it,  if  we  will,  the  key  of 
confidence  and  action,  for  confidence  and  action  are  the 
ward  and  slot  of  the  key  to  all  the  meanings  of  life.  Mr. 
William  James  and  his  school  have  rendered  us  no  greater 
service  than  in  justifying  on  psychological  grounds  the 
ancient  enthusiasms  of  the  soul ;  they  have  shown  us  that 
desire  does  not  follow  but  leads  in  the  master  enterprises 
of  life  and  that  will  is  a  creative  force  giving  quality  and 
solidity  to  all  our  experiences.  So  many  men  to  whom 
the  generations  have  looked  for  guidance,  asking  bread 
only  to  be  given  a  stone,  have  failed  just  here  :  they  have 
really  been  wanting  in  the  will  to  live  and  have  spread 
abroad  a  contagious  paralysis  which  is  responsible  for  an 
unbelievable  body  of  confusion  and  despair. 

Tolstoy  also  examined  and  immediately  discarded 
three  or  four  ways  by  which  he  found  men  and  women 
about  him  trying  to  escape.     He  would  have  nothing  to 


312      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

do  with  the  way  of  ignorance  or  self-indulgence  or  weak- 
ness. He  found  some  help  in  what  he  calls  the  way  out 
through  force  and  energy.  '♦  I  saw  that  this  was  the 
worthiest  way  and  I  wanted  to  act  in  that  way."  But 
force  and  energy  may  make  our  life  more  difficult  than 
ever  if  they  are  not  constantly  sustained  by  the  inflood- 
ing  of  an  energy  which  supplements  our  weakness  and 
knows  no  ebbing  tides.  Above  all,  if  force  and  energy 
do  not  act  in  the  right  direction  and  along  an  open  road, 
they  are  likely  in  the  end  to  dash  us  against  a  wall. 

So,  having  determined  to  live,  Tolstoy  sought  next  the 
right  way  in  which  to  live  and  the  secret  of  unfailing 
power.  He  found  the  secret  of  unfailing  power  where 
men  have  always  found  it :  in  God.  His  search  for  God 
carries  us  into  regions  which  no  confession  heretofore 
considered  has  occupied — the  region  of  intellectual  doubt. 
It  goes  without  saying  that  this  is  a  modern  note  which 
has  come  into  the  quest.  The  strife  of  St.  Augustine, 
St.  Paul  and  John  Bunyan  is  the  strife  of  the  divided 
purpose  ;  they  found  it  hard  enough  to  completely  sur- 
render their  lives  to  the  will  of  God,  but  they  never 
doubted  His  existence.  Tolstoy  grappled  with  his  doubts. 
"  He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind."  How  far, 
in  the  end,  he  completely  resolved  his  doubts  or  in  what 
conceptions  of  God  he  finally  rested  it  is  not  easy  to  say. 
As  far  as  one  may  read  between  the  lines  of  his  con- 
fession his  apprehensions  of  God  were  emotional  rather 
than  intellectual ;  his  path  the  mystic's  rather  than 
the  high  and  austere  road  of  reason.  His  confidence  in 
God  is  born  of  satisfied  need.  "  I  need,'*  he  said,  "  only 
to  be  aware  of  God  to  live  ;  I  need  only  to  forget  Him  or 
disbelieve  in  Him,  and  I  die.  .  .  .  '  What  more  do 
you  seek  ! '  exclaimed  a  voice  within  me.     *  This  is  He. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  313 

He  is  that  without  which  one  cannot  hve.  To  know 
God  and  to  Hve  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  God  is  hfe. 
Live  seeking  God  and  then  you  will  not  live  without 
God.'  And  more  than  ever  before,  all  within  me  and 
around  me  ht  up,  and  the  light  did  not  again  abandon 
me." ' 

Having  so  discovered  God  and  resolved  his  doubts  by 
experience  rather  than  by  reasoning  processes  he  saw  faith 
in  a  new  light.  For  a  little,  indeed,  he  accepted  with  a 
childlike  simplicity  the  offices  of  the  Greek  Church. 
"  And  strange  as  much  of  it  was  to  me,  I  accepted  every- 
thing; and  attended  the  services,  knelt  morning  and 
evening  in  prayer,  fasted  and  prepared  to  receive  the 
eucharist ;  and  at  first  my  reason  did  not  resist  anything. 
What  had  formerly  seemed  to  be  impossible  did  not  now 
evoke  in  me  any  resistance."  ^  This  could  not  long  con- 
tinue, but  it  enabled  Tolstoy  to  gain  a  deeper  and  more 
inclusive  vision  of  the  meaning  of  faith  and  worship. 
"  I  told  myself  that  the  essence  of  every  faith  consists  in 
its  giving  life  a  meaning  which  death  does  not  destroy." 
This  really  marvellous  definition,  a  little  amplified, 
comes  more  nearly  to  the  heart  of  the  problem,  which 
emerges  now  in  one  aspect,  now  in  another,  in  all  the 
literature  of  confession  and  travail,  than  in  any  other 
sentence  in  all  such  literature,  save  the  great  word  of  St. 
Augustine,  so  often  herein  quoted  :  "  Thou  hast  made  us 
for  Thyself,  and  we  are  restless  till  we  rest  in  Thee." 
Faith  not  only  gives  to  life  a  meaning  which  death  does 
not  destroy,  but  it  gives  to  life  a  meaning  which  doubt, 
fear,  perplexity,  despondency,  the  vast  incessant  chal- 
lenges   of  pain,  tragedy    and    loss    cannot    destroy.     It 

*  "The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  I,  pp.  417,  418. 
^  JM(/.,  p.  419. 


314      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

gives  to  life  a  meaning  which  no  shadow  can  permanently 
darken,  no  flood  overwhelm  and  no  earthquake  level  to 
the  dust.  Faith  then  is  the  assumption  of  truths,  re- 
alities, relationships  which  make  life  livable,  give  us  heart 
to  face  its  demands,  introduce  into  every  situation,  no 
matter  how  perplexing  or  complex,  just  the  final  ele- 
ments which  are  necessary  to  clear  it  up  and  make  it 
consonant  with  the  needs  of  the  soul,  the  demands  of 
justice  and  the  nature  of  love  itself.  The  supreme  affir- 
mation of  all  that  is  deepest  within  us 

**  That  we  may  lift  from  out  the  dust 
A  voice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 
A  cry  above  the  conquer*  d  years 
To  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trust, 

**  With  faith  that  comes  of  self-control, 
The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved. 
And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul,"  * 

is,  so  Tolstoy  found,  the  indispensable  condition  of  co- 
herent thought  as  it  is  of  fruitful  action. 

The  childlike  submission  of  a  man  like  Tolstoy  to  the 
offices  and  creeds  of  the  Greek  Church  could  not  long 
endure  ;  there  came  a  time  when  he  deliberately  stopped 
fasting  on  fast  days  and  disengaged  himself,  strand  by 
strand,  from  all  the  web  which  that  Church  weaves  about 
the  subjects  of  the  Czar.  He  was  willing  that  his  chil- 
dren should  be  married  without  the  sanction  of  the 
Church  (though  they  themselves  chose  differently) ;  he 
asked  neither  its  sacraments  nor  its  absolutions.  He 
was  rather  bitterly  at  odds  with  Pobiedonostzeff,  the 
fiercely  reactionary  patriarch  of  the  Greek  Church,  and 

'  "  In  Memoriam,"  CXXXI.  Tennyson. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  315 

he  has  spoken  upon  occasion  as  bitterly  of  the  Church 
as  any  one  would  care  to  speak.  All  the  temper  of  the 
man  drove  him  ultimately  in  another  direction.  He 
examined,  one  by  one,  the  articles  of  the  historical 
creeds  and,  one  by  one,  he  discarded  them.  He  familiar- 
ized himself  with  the  original  tongues  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament  that  he  might  search  out  the  heart  of 
their  meanings.  He  dropped  entirely  during  this  period 
all  literary  creation,  gave  himself  entirely  to  the  study 
of  religion  and  theological  problems,  grew  suddenly  old 
and  deep  lined  in  face,  white  haired,  with  sad  deep  eyes 
and  flowing  white  beard.  He  became,  in  outward  form, 
brother  to  all  the  prophets  since  the  morning  of  time. 
Surely  it  is  a  testimony  to  the  dominance  of  the  spirit  to 
which  we  ought  not  to  shut  our  eyes  that  men  separated 
by  all  the  reaches  of  nationalities,  civilizations  and  the 
unresting  years  do,  nevertheless,  under  the  stress  of  the 
same  experiences  conform  to  type  in  body,  mind  and 
soul. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  how  far  Tolstoy's  theological 
studies  have  greatly  served  any  one  but  the  man  who 
made  them.  He  took  liberties  with  the  New  Testament, 
he  himself  confesses,  in  his  translations  and,  on  the  whole, 
all  which  he  sought  to  do  in  the  region  of  scholarship 
has  been  better  done  by  men  who  were  better  fitted  to 
do  it.  The  whole  thing  was  a  necessary  stage  in  Tol- 
stoy's own  spiritual  endeavour.  He  found  his  own  peace 
more  and  more  in  utter  simplification  of  his  life.  He 
sought  guidance  from  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people, 
as  has  been  said,  but  he  found  most  light  in  those  who 
worked  with  their  hands  and  lived  nearest  the  earth. 
He  began  to  take  the  teachings  of  Jesus  literally;  all  his 
instincts  and  the  whole  driving  force  of  his  temperament 


3i6      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

made  it  easy  for  him  to  do  this.  He  dwelt  much  upon 
the  five  central  commandments  of  Christ  as  the  great 
guiding  rules  for  a  Christian.  The  first,  "  Do  not  be 
angry."  The  second,  "  Do  not  give  way  to  evil  desire." 
The  third,  *♦  Do  not  forswear  thyself;  do  not,  that  is,  give 
away  the  control  of  your  future  actions."  The  fourth, 
"  Resist  not  him  that  is  evil."  The  fifth, "  Love  your 
enemies."  How  far  Tolstoy  was  right  in  his  interpreta- 
tions of  Jesus'  teaching  is  not  here  in  discussion.  The 
wisest  and  most  sincere  of  men  equally  desirous  of  peace 
and  the  triumph  of  the  Kingdom  differ  radically  as  to  the 
practicability  of  non-resistance.  Tolstoy  was  a  spiritual 
anarchist  and  the  solution  of  all  moral  problems  in  terms 
of  the  simple  exercise  of  individualism  was  as  natural  to 
him  as  the  course  of  a  river  to  the  sea.  He  immediately 
began,  however,  to  give  these  fundamental  teachings  of 
Jesus,  as  he  conceived  them,  the  right  of  way  in  his  own 
life,  sought  to  live  simply,  work  with  his  hands  and  support 
himself  by  that  same  labour,  and  to  undo  and  remake  all 
the  world  about  him  in  order  that  the  expectations  of  the 
sons  of  God  might  become  real. 

If  we  could  stop  here  there  would  be  Httle  to  add  ex- 
cept that  one  of  the  most  distinguished  figures  in  our 
modern  life  chose  to  accept  the  words  of  Jesus  with  sweep- 
ing literalness  and  to  live  them  out  with  searching  fidelity 
and  that,  moreover,  in  doing  all  this  the  very  station  and 
quality  of  the  man  combined  to  give  his  spiritual  en- 
deavour a  picturesque  and  dramatic  quality  which  made 
it  carry  far.  We  might  then  discuss  the  real  significance 
of  it  and  close  this  chapter,  and  we  should  still  be  in  as  much 
doubt  as  when  we  began  whether  Tolstoy's  contribution 
to  the  problem  of  life  had  largely  contributed  towards  its 
solution.     But  just  here  an  unexpected  thing  began  to 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  317 

happen  ;  very  likely  it  ought  not  to  be  called  unexpected, 
for  intimations  of  it  had  not  been  wanting  in  Tolstoy's 
earlier  experiences,  and  yet  one  may  reasonably  contend 
that  even  Tolstoy  himself  could  not  have  clearly  foreseen 
where  he  was  going  to  be  carried.  In  proportion  as  he 
simplified  his  own  life,  grew  careless  of  externalities,  stood 
one  side  from  the  pleasures  and  occupations  of  his  class 
and  station,  he  began  to  see  the  world  with  new  eyes  and 
a  sense  of  its  inequalities,  follies  and  miseries  came  upon 
him  like  a  tide.  It  has  always  been  so  ;  no  man  has  ever 
come  down  to  elemental  things,  shaken  himself  clear  of 
the  cares  of  this  world  and  the  deceitfulness  of  riches, 
sought  to  test  life  by  searching  standards  and  stored  his 
treasures  in  the  treasure  houses  of  the  Kingdom,  who  has 
not  come  to  see  the  tremendous  masses  of  social  injustice 
and  misery  clear  against  his  sky.  Tolstoy  must  always 
have  been  uneasily  conscious  of  the  social  inequalities, 
the  injustices  of  his  world,  but  he  comes  now  to  the  place 
where  he  can  see  nothing  else.  The  scales  have  dropped 
from  his  eyes.  He  became  a  brother  to  Amos  and  Micah, 
John  the  Baptist,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  ;  he  became  the 
comrade  of  the  judges  of  human  delinquencies,  the 
dreamers  of  a  happier  world.  He  saw  what  none  of  the 
men  whom  we  have  heretofore  considered  has  seen,  felt 
that  to  which  they  had  been  strangely  insensible;  he  saw 
that  salvation  is  no  mere  individual  concern — men  can 
never  be  at  peace  as  long  as  their  neighbours  are  in  sor- 
row, or  perfectly  attain  their  own  salvation  while  the  bitter 
cry  of  an  unsaved  world  forever  rises  towards  the  stars. 

All  this  makes  it  impossible  to  say  whether  Tolstoy's 
road  is  the  road  to  real  peace,  for  directly  he  began  to 
travel  it  it  led  him  into  the  very  heart  of  the  fellowship 
of  the  wounded  and  forcrotten.     Before  he  was  done  with 


3i8      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

saving  his  own  soul  the  problem  of  salvation  had  so 
widened  as  to  throw  him  into  the  swift  current  of  a  deeper 
river  to  battle  once  more  for  the  shore.  He  saw  the  Rus- 
sian world  divided  into  two  parts  :  on  the  one  side  the 
rich  and  the  comfortable,  on  the  other  side  the  unbe- 
lievably poor  and  degraded,  and  he  saw  the  rich  and  the 
comfortable  feasting  like  Dives  with  Lazarus  lying  at  his 
gate  and  strangely  untroubled  by  the  misery  which  they 
had  but  to  open  their  eyes  to  see.  The  whole  situation 
became  for  him  directly  impossible  and  his  sense  of  the 
impossibility  of  it  all  is  perhaps,  when  everything  is  said 
and  done,  his  greatest  contribution  to  the  hope  of  the 
Kingdom.  In  a  paragraph  of  such  vividness  as  only 
Tolstoy  could  compass  he  simply  opens  to  their  very 
roots  two  outstanding  convictions  which  never  failed  him, 
about  which  he  never  wavered  and  in  defense  of  which 
he  lifted  up  his  voice  until  that  voice  was  forever  stilled, 
although  indeed  it  is  not  hkely,  the  world  being  what  it  is 
and  life  being  what  it  is,  that  a  voice  so  lifted  can  ever  be 
stilled. 

"  Thirty  years  ago  in  Paris,  I  once  saw  how,  in  the 
presence  of  thousands  of  spectators,  they  cut  a  man's  head 
off  with  a  guillotine.  I  knew  he  was  a  dreadful  criminal ; 
I  knew  all  the  arguments  that  have  been  written  in 
defense  of  that  kind  of  action,  and  I  knew  it  was  done 
deliberately  and  intentionally  ;  but  at  the  moment  the  head 
and  body  separated  and  fell  into  the  box,  I  gasped  and 
realized  not  with  my  mind,  but  with  my  heart  and  my 
whole  being,  that  all  the  arguments  in  defense  of  capital 
punishment  are  wicked  nonsense,  and  that  however  many 
people  may  combine  to  commit  murder — the  worst  of  all 
crimes — and  whatever  they  may  call  themselves,  murder 
remains  murder,  and  that  a  crime  had  been  committed  be- 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  319 

fore  my  eyes  ;  and  I,  by  my  presence  and  non-interven- 
tion, had  approved  and  shared  in  it.  In  the  same  way 
now,  at  the  sight  of  the  hunger,  cold  and  degradation  of 
thousands  of  people,  I  understand  not  only  with  my  mind 
or  heart,  but  with  my  whole  being,  that  the  existence  of 
tens  of  thousands  of  such  people  in  Moscow — while  I  and 
thousands  of  others  overeat  ourselves  with  beefsteaks  and 
sturgeon,  and  cover  our  horses  and  floors  with  cloth  or 
carpets — no  matter  what  all  the  learned  men  in  the  world 
may  say  about  its  necessity,  is  a  crime,  and  one  not  com- 
mitted once,  but  constantly  ;  and  that  I  with  my  luxury 
not  merely  tolerate  it,  but  share  in  it."  ^ 

We  may  say  what  we  will  in  criticism  of  Tolstoy's 
economic  and  social  vagaries,  we  may  defend  as  we  will 
the  supposititious  necessities  of  government  and  society, 
but  we  are  not  likely  to  get  away  from  these  fundamental 
contentions  of  the  great  Russian.  They  did  not  begin 
with  him ;  they  did  not  cease  when  his  pen  fell  from  his 
fingers.  They  are  likely,  in  the  end,  to  have  their  way 
with  all  of  us.  We  know  better  than  Tolstoy  what  far- 
reaching  reconstitutions  of  our  world  and  of  all  the  lives 
of  men  and  women  in  it  are  necessary  before  the  day  of 
their  sure  and  untroubled  triumph  shall  have  dawned,  but 
we  are  under  the  necessity  of  unweariedly  seeking  such 
triumph,  nor  will  all  our  better  hopes  come  true  until  love 
and  brotherhood  are  supreme. 

During  all  this  period  Tolstoy  was  simplifying  in  every 
possible  way  the  conduct  of  his  own  life.  It  must  al- 
ways be  a  question  how  far  such  simplification  was  robbed 
of  its  most  searching  difficulties  by  the  encompassing  cir- 
cumstances of  his  life.  The  little  room  in  which  he  wrote 
was  barren  and  monastical  enough  but  it  was  a  part  of  a 

>  "  The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  II,  pp.  no,  iii. 


320      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

very  considerable  establishment.  He  wore  the  costume  of 
a  peasant  but  it  has  been  reported — one  does  not  know 
how  truly — that  he  wore  silken  underwear.  He  did 
labour  with  his  hand,  but  his  manual  labour  was  only  an 
incident  in  his  social  and  literary  career.  He  made  boots, 
but  his  handiwork  acquired  an  excessive  value  from  the 
very  circumstances  under  which  he  made  them,  and 
his  philosophic  soul  was  really  troubled  because  he  was 
always  finding  out  that  people  were  willing  to  pay  very 
much  more  than  the  market  price  for  his  handiwork,  not 
because  they  were  good  boots  but  because  Leo  Tolstoy 
made  them.  It  was  impossible  to  eliminate  a  certain 
theatrical  element  from  the  situation  which  he  partly 
created  for  himself  and  which  was  partly  created  for  him 
by  forces  too  strong  for  his  control.  There  is  always 
the  temptation  to  think  of  Tolstoy  as  unconsciously  a 
poseur ;  very  hkely  such  a  conclusion  is  unjustified,  but  it 
is  not  easy  to  escape  the  suggestion  of  it. 

Certain  things,  however,  undoubtedly  came  out  of 
Tolstoy's  whole  course  of  renunciation.  For  one  thing 
his  health  was  better,  his  literary  creativeness  increased. 
He  suddenly  began  to  look  like  an  old  man,  but  beneath 
his  long  gray  hair  and  wrinkled  face  was  a  soul  whose 
fires  if  anything  grew  more  intense,  while  his  body  grew 
tireless,  inexhaustible  in  its  vitality.  He  learned  what 
we  are  all  in  sore  danger  of  forgetting :  the  joy  of  phys- 
ical labour.  He  has  written  few  more  compelling  pas- 
sages than  the  story  of  the  mowing  in  •*  Anna  Karenina." 
We  may  be  sure  then  that  the  joy  which  Levin  found  in 
manual  labour,  the  purgation  of  body,  mind  and  soul 
which  came  to  him  as  he  kept  pace  all  day  long  with  the 
mowing  peasants,  is  Tolstoy's  own  personal  testimony. 
He  was  sadly  wanting  in  economic  vision,  but  when  he 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  321 

tells  us  how  manual  labour  sweetens  and  simplifies  life 
and  clarifies  the  moral  vision  he  is  dwelling  upon  a  truth 
too  easily  forgotten. 

From  the  levels  to  which  Tolstoy  now  ascended,  for 
one  must  always  climb  to  reach  the  levels  of  simplicity 
and  humility,  he  saw  a  new  world.  We  have  already 
dwelt  much  upon  the  new  sense  of  social  inequalities  and 
injustices  so  fathered.  He  had  always  moved  much  among 
simple  folk  ;  this  now  grew  upon  him.  He  was  unhappy 
enough  in  Moscow  during  the  winter  and  went  to  the 
city  only  for  the  social  and  educational  advantages  of  his 
children.  While  they  were  busy  about  their  balls  and 
dinners  Tolstoy  sounded  the  depths  of  the  poverty,  misery 
and  sin  of  the  holy  city  of  all  the  Russians.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  here  he  was  almost  a  pioneer  and  in 
proposing  to  friends  who  would  barely  listen  to  him  and, 
at  best,  dismissed  him  with  unfulfilled  promises,  the  re- 
habilitation of  the  whole  submerged  population,  he  was 
proposing  what  is  now  the  ideal  of  every  social  worker 
worth  the  name.  He  saw  clearly  and  felt  still  more 
deeply  how  complex  and  interwrought  was  the  web 
whose  black  threads  were  sorrow,  poverty,  shame,  degra- 
dation and  despair. 

Tolstoy's  social  impulses  worked  out  in  three  direc- 
tions :  in  the  conduct  of  his  own  life,  in  what  may  be 
called  his  spiritual  economy,  and  in  impulses  which  he 
communicated  to  others.  The  fruit  of  it  all  in  the  sim- 
plification of  his  own  life  we  have  already  dwelt  upon, 
but  he  could  not  rest  content  with  that.  He  was  a  born 
propagandist,  even  t'louc^h  he  was  impatient  of  disciple- 
ship.  In  the  face  of  the  misery  and  inequalities  of  Rus- 
sian society  he  asked  himself  the  question,  What  shall 
we  do  ? — and  answered  his  own  question  at  length  in  a 


322      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

book  so  named.  He  was  not  always  consistent.  At 
certain  times  in  his  life  he  was  inconsiderately  generous, 
giving  away  relatively  large  sums  of  money  without  in- 
quiry and  upon  impulse.  He  did  this,  for  example,  in  that 
Moscow  winter  when  he  sought  to  organize  Russian  so- 
ciety for  the  rehabilitation  of  the  underworld  of  the  old 
city.  In  the  end  he  came  to  attach  very  little  value  to 
money  and  was  firmly  persuaded  that  the  regeneration  of 
society  was  to  be  accomplished  by  the  bestowal  of  other 
and  more  precious  gifts.  He  had  the  modern  science  of 
charity  on  his  side  in  such  contention.  It  is  perfectly  evi- 
dent to  us  all  now  that  what  the  submerged  really  need 
is  redemptive  personal  contact ;  the  giving  of  money  is 
too  often  an  wholly  inexpensive  escape  from  situations 
demanding  Hfe  and  love,  fidelity  and  wisdom.  We  are  not 
to  be  permitted  so  to  escape  the  moral  compulsions  which 
are  laid  upon  us.  Tolstoy's  impatience  of  such  superfi- 
cial charities  led  him,  however,  to  strange  extremities,  as 
when,  for  example,  he  refused  to  supply  his  own  villagers 
with  spades  enough  to  do  the  spring  planting,  stoutly 
contending  that  it  would  be  better  for  them  to  pass  the 
three  spades  which  they  had  between  them  from  hand  to 
hand  than  to  have  a  sufficient  supply  of  those  homely 
tools.  The  sheer  inconvenience  of  such  a  situation  seems 
wholly  to  have  escaped  him.  There  is  a  time  for  sowing, 
and  even  the  most  friendly  village  in  the  world  can  sow 
adequately  only  when  there  are  spades  enough  to  go 
around. 

He  was  more  than  impatient  of  all  organized  effort — 
it  never  for  a  moment  entered  into  his  scheme  of  things 
— nor  had  he  any  use  for  division  of  labour  ;  each  man 
must  be  sufficient  unto  himself,  dividing  his  day's  work 
into  three  parts — for  one-third  of  the  time  he  is  to  dig, 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  323 

for  another  third  weave,  and  for  another  third  write  about 
it  all.  He  was  quite  persuaded  that  society  could  be 
organized  on  the  basis  of  a  Russian  village ;  the  fuller 
development  of  the  social  order  seemed  to  him  not  only 
unnecessary  but  iniquitous.  Part  of  this,  of  course,  was 
temperamental,  part  due  to  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  found  himself.  There  was  little  in  the  Russian 
bureaucracy  of  Tolstoy's  maturer  years  to  commend  itself 
to  thoughtful  and  justice-loving  men.  No  wonder  multi- 
tudes of  Russians  have  reacted  against  it  all.  Anarchism 
and  nihilism  have  rooted  themselves  in  an  overgoverned 
soil,  protests  both  against  rigidities,  conservatism,  intru- 
sions and  arbitrary  stupidities  which  have  rendered  all 
government  odious  in  the  eyes  of  those  so  governed,  led 
them  wholly  to  underestimate  the  worth  of  organized 
effort  and  to  seek  to  establish  the  state  of  their  dreams 
upon  wholly  inadequate  foundations. 

Tolstoy  was  wanting  always  in  the  sense  of  historic 
backgrounds ;  he  did  not  attach  importance  enough  to 
the  great  ordered  movements  of  society  nor  did  he  un- 
derstand the  deep  solidities  of  forms  and  institutions 
against  which  his  life  was  a  flaming  protest.  There  is 
nothing,  after  all,  arbitrary  or  capricious  in  the  forms  into 
which  our  common  life  has,  of  necessity,  fallen.  What 
vast  intricacies  of  abuse  and  maladministration  our  folly 
and  our  fault  have  woven  about  the  methods  and  ad- 
ministrations of  our  common  life  is  evident  to  us  all,  but 
always  to  deny  these  methods  and  administrations  be- 
cause of  such  abuses  is  to  throw  the  baby  out  with  the 
bath.  Morality,  we  are  told,  is  of  the  nature  of  things ; 
so  also  is  the  state  and  so  also,  indeed,  are  the  great 
industrial  and  social  tendencies  which  we  may  discern 
slowly  emerging  as  from  troubled  waters   and  beneath 


324      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

cloud-filled  skies.  Tolstoy  ignored  the  witness  of  his  own 
experiences  and  the  manifold  necessities  of  human  life. 
The  individual  does  not  find  or  fulfill  himself  except  in 
comradeships ;  our  world  always  breaks  down  in  the 
measure  in  which  we  isolate  ourselves.  Loneliness  car- 
ried to  its  logical  extreme  is  just  nothingness.  We  do 
not  need  to  dismiss  the  state ;  we  have  rather  to  recall  it 
to  forgotten  tasks,  baptize  it  into  new  names,  consecrate  it 
to  new  endeavours.  In  asking  the  help  of  his  Moscow 
friends  for  the  rehabilitation  of  certain  sections  of  Mos- 
cow society  Tolstoy  was  anticipating  the  whole  current 
of  modern  welfare  work.  Why  could  he  not  have  seen 
that  only  the  whole  of  society  is  equal  to  such  an  undertak- 
ing? Those  excesses  of  individualism  which  have  really 
undone  us  are  not  to  be  cured  by  more  but  by  less  anarchy. 
The  division  of  labour  is  an  unescapable  economy.  Our 
world  demands  and  will  increasingly  demand  specializa- 
tion and  the  faults  of  specialization  are  to  be  met  not  by 
turning  the  clock  back  nor  by  shattering  a  machine  con- 
structed at  such  vast  cost  and  capable  of  so  great  service, 
but  by  bringing  into  play  new  and  compensating  forces, 
by  a  more  equitable  sharing  of  burdens,  by  a  more  care- 
ful assignment  of  men  to  their  work  and  a  greater  enrich- 
ment of  all  our  common  life.  Such  social  readjustments 
are  already  beginning  to  be  indicated  and  are  to  save  us 
all  from  the  consequences  of  an  industrial  order  whose 
tendencies  towards  subdivision  of  labour  are  inevitable, 
but  whose  tendencies  towards  the  alienation  of  classes 
must  be  combated  at  any  cost. 

Tolstoy's  value  then,  as  a  social  reformer,  is  to  be 
sought  rather  in  the  impulses  which  he  communicated 
than  the  methods  which  he  suggested ;  we  are  in  debt  to 
him  for  a  passionate  humanity,  for  a  persistent  courage, 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  325 

for  a  kindling  fidelity  to  his  own  ideals.  He  was,  indeed, 
saved  from  the  full  consequences  of  what  he  was  urging 
upon  others  by  the  very  situations  of  his  own  house- 
hold, but  we  must  recognize  behind  all  the  contradictions 
of  Tolstoy's  regime  a  real  courage,  a  patience  and  consist- 
ency, an  endeavour  to  simplify  and  at  the  same  time 
elevate  life  which  has  made  the  man  who  lived  as  a 
monk,  swung  the  scythe  like  a  peasant,  worked  with  his 
awl  and  waxed  ends  as  a  cobbler,  wrote  as  only  the  great 
masters  of  all  literature  may  write,  repented  as  St.  Peter, 
and  loved  in  his  more  tender  moments  as  one  to  whom 
much  has  been  forgiven,  one  of  the  great  forces  of  a 
troubled  time,  a  man  who  swayed  the  ideals  of  the 
dreamers  of  two  continents,  and  who  became  himself  one 
of  the  most  tenderly  loved  of  the  men  of  the  last  two 
generations. 

Tolstoy's  influence  communicated  itself;  it  was  im- 
possible, of  course,  that  it  should  not.  Disciples  came 
and  went  and  more  than  one  colony  endeavoured  to  put 
into  active  operation  the  theories  of  the  master.  With- 
out exception  such  colonies  have  so  far  failed.  The  rope 
of  sand  by  which  they  were  bound  together  could  not 
sustain  the  strain  even  of  the  most  trivial  necessities  of 
daily  life.  One  or  two  perfectly  ridiculous  instances  illus- 
trate the  helplessness  of  men  who  surrender  every  au- 
thority and  seek  to  secure  no  real  reincarnation  of  the 
authority  so  surrendered  in  some  larger  expression  of  life. 
In  one  of  the  colonies  a  neglected  boy  was  adopted.  He 
was  first  taught  that  no  physical  force  could  be  used 
upon  any  one,  that  no  true  follower  of  Tolstoy  could  ap- 
peal to  the  courts,  and  that  the  possession  of  property 
was  an  obstacle  to  the  life  of  the  soul.  Whereupon, 
having  learned  his  lesson,  the  boy  appropriated  the  waist- 


326      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

coat  of  the  man  who  had  taught  him.  No  logical  argu- 
ment could  get  the  waistcoat  off  the  boy  and  on  the  back 
of  its  one  time  possessor.  The  boy  took  his  stand  upon 
the  wrongfulness  of  property  and  challenged  the  unhappy 
advocates  of  non-resistance  to  get  the  waistcoat  back 
again.  They  might  indeed  have  recaptured  it  while  the 
boy  was  abed,  but  under  such  circumstances  the  man 
who  went  to  bed  first  was  evidently  at  the  mercy  of  the 
whole  community  ;  he  might  well  find  himself  hard  put  to 
it  to  make  a  proper  showing  in  the  world  upon  awak- 
ing. The  whole  colony  was  eventually  drawn  into  the 
dispute  and  got  such  a  vision  of  the  unworkableness  of 
the  principles  to  which  they  had  committed  themselves 
as  practically  to  bring  them  back  to  a  less  ideal  world, 
but  a  world,  none  the  less,  in  which  one  can  at  least  be 
sure  of  his  clothes  in  the  morning.  Here,  as  elsewhere, 
Tolstoy  forgot  to  qualify.  The  great  single  teachings  of 
Jesus  are  always,  we  shall  find,  qualified  either  by  other 
teachings  of  the  Master  or  by  the  whole  spirit  of  His 
teaching.  The  law  of  love  must  always  qualify  the 
teaching  of  indiscriminate  charity.  We  are,  indeed, 
under  bonds  to  give  to  all  who  ask  but  we  are  never  un- 
der bonds  to  give  them  the  thing  which  they  ask.  Very 
often  society  is  kindest  in  giving  to  the  beggar  who  asks 
for  bread  not  bread  but  a  stone  to  break  and  a  stick  of 
wood  to  saw.  It  would  seem  to  the  unregenerate  that 
what  that  boy  needed  was  not  a  waistcoat  but  a  pretty 
thorough  course  in  discipline.  Love  and  wisdom  are 
heaven-born  comrades. 

In  another  instance  the  colonists  were  finally  led  to 
give  a  piece  of  woodland  to  the  peasants  ;  thereupon  the 
peasants  came  in  like  carrion  birds.  The  woodland  was 
the  scene  of  riot ;  the   richest  peasants  with  the  most 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  327 

horses  got  the  most  timber.  The  only  thing  which  came 
out  of  it  all  was  quarrelling,  greed  and  disillusionment. 
Monastic  life  has  shown  again  and  again  that  a  group  of 
men  under  a  stern  discipline  to  which  they  are  held  by 
great  religious  enthusiasms  can  live  such  a  Hfe  as  Tolstoy 
suggested,  but  even  so  the  note  of  authority  is  never 
wanting  but  always  lodged  by  the  community  in  one  who 
becomes  the  incarnation  of  its  common  purpose.  Fruit- 
ful monastic  life  has  been  possible  only  when  such  au- 
thority has  been  strongly  sustained,  discipline  rigidly  en- 
forced and  the  springs  of  rehgious  enthusiasm  pure  and 
unfailing.  Even  under  such  circumstances  the  richest 
monastic  life  in  the  records  of  the  history  of  the  Church 
hasstiU  been  sterile  in  great  regions  and  the  complete  ex- 
tension of  it  would  have  meant  the  extinction  of  society. 

There  is  nothing  to  say  then  in  dismissing  these  ac- 
tivities of  Tolstoy  but  to  dwell  once  more  upon  his  great 
contributions  and  to  forget  their  unhappy  deficiencies. 
He  has  taught  us  the  worth  of  the  simple  life,  exalted  in 
the  materialistic  age  the  things  of  the  spirit  above  mere 
possession,  dignified  labour  and  shown  us,  above  all,  how 
clearly  we  are  bound  to  discern  the  dramatic  inequalities 
and  the  unconsidered  miseries  of  the  world  directly 
we  have  been  brave  enough  to  shake  ourselves  free 
from  the  cares  of  this  world  and  the  deceitfulness  of 
riches.  He  has  shown  us,  moreover,  that  the  quest  which 
begins  in  loneliness  must  end  in  comradeship,  that  there 
is  no  peace  for  a  man  until  his  neighbour  has  secured 
peace,  that  to  live  and  die  as  the  soldier  of  the  ideal  is 
better  than  many  possessions  or  any  success  which  has 
been  achieved  at  the  cost  of  the  ideal. 

Such  then  are  the  necessities  and  considerations  which 
Tolstoy,  the  regenerate,  began  to  urge  upon  the  world. 


328      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

After  the  full  readjustment  of  his  life  he  followed  to  the 
end  roads  already  indicated,  lived  in  such  fashion  as  we 
have  sought  to  portray,  sought  for  himself  in  increasing 
intensity  those  ideals  of  character  and  conduct  whose 
light  had  scattered  his  sore  darkness.  He  grew  more 
and  more  Hke  an  Old  Testament  prophet  in  his  outward 
seeming,  with  a  look  upon  his  face  which  proclaimed  a 
new  inner  life  which,  if  not  at  peace  upon  its  troubled 
spaces,  was  at  least  growing  serene  in  its  depths.  His 
brother-in-law — S.  A.  Behrs — thus  pictures  for  us  certain 
aspects  of  the  new  Tolstoy.  "  His  face,  however,  showed 
evident  signs  of  the  serious  mental  suffering  he  had  en- 
dured. It  was  calm,  sad  and  had  a  quite  new  look ;  and 
it  was  not  his  face  only,  but  his  whole  personality  that 
had  completely  altered  ;  and  not  his  life  only  and  his  re- 
lation to  everybody,  but  his  whole  mental  activity.  If 
he  still  retained  many  of  his  former  views  (his  hostility 
to  •  progress  '  and  •  civilization,'  for  instance)  the  ground 
for  these  convictions  had  greatly  changed."  * 

Any  thoroughgoing  criticism  of  Tolstoy's  contentions 
would  carry  us  far  afield.  We  have  already  seen  how 
hopelessly  individualistic  he  was ;  how  careless  of  prec- 
edent, how  impatient  of  reforms  into  which,  from  the 
very  beginning,  society  has  tended  to  organize  itself. 
His  disciples  found  in  their  own  evanescent  Tolstoyian 
colonies  that  even  the  peaceful  continuance  of  a  small 
group  of  the  elect  was  impossible  upon  Tolstoyian  foun- 
dations. By  how  much  the  more  then  would  the  con- 
tinued existence  of  society  have  been  impossible  under 
such  conditions,  for  society  is  no  group  of  the  elect,  but 
the  whole  turbulent  force  of  life  working  under  manifold 
compulsions  towards  ends  whose  full  significance  has  not 

» «« The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Aylmer  Maude,  Vol.  II,  p.  325. 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  329 

yet  begun  to  appear.  Surely  if  morality  is  the  nature  of 
things,  the  deep  channelled  forms  which  the  world  has 
worn  may  also  prove  themselves  to  be  the  nature  of 
things,  to  be  ignored  at  our  peril  and  to  be  discharged 
only  when  we  have  attained  such  altitudes  of  perfection 
as  are  now  far,  far  above  us. 

In  such  fashion  as  this  does  the  old,  old  strife  between 
the  prophet  and  the  statesman,  the  dreamer  and  the  man 
of  affairs,  the  idealist  and  the  administrator  reveal  itself. 
We  should  be  poor  enough  without  either.  We  are 
needing  constantly  to  correct  our  too  hasty  judgments, 
our  rigid  definitions,  our  passion  of  idealism  by  the  vast 
deductions  of  experience  and  the  massive  testimonies  of 
an  unresting  world.  But  we  are  needing  just  as  constantly 
to  test  our  accepted  judgments,  our  familiar  inductions, 
and  even  our  seemingly  indispensable  forms,  by  the  vision 
and  passion  of  the  prophet.  It  is  always  possible  that 
much  which  seems  to  us  to  be  of  the  nature  of  things 
may  be  only  the  projection  of  our  selfishnesses,  our 
lethargies  or  our  blindnesses  against  our  horizons — nay, 
that  the  nature  of  things  by  which  we  are  so  eager  to 
test  every  voice  which  summons  us  to  set  out  for  the  city 
which  hath  foundations,  whose  builder  and  maker  is  God, 
is  nothing  other  than  some  low  and  most  unworthy 
nature  which,  for  the  sake  of  life  itself,  needs  to  be 
transcended.  The  master  dreamers  have  been  rare 
enough ;  we  have  not  too  often  had  men  who  can  speak 
from  mountain  tops  of  vision  with  voices  which  carry 
across  seas  and  continents  and  years.  We  would  better, 
at  least,  be  patient  with  them,  for  the  past  testifies  that 
they  also  have  been  of  the  nature  of  things,  their  voices 
are  remembered  when  the  voices  of  protest  are  stilled,  and 
their   dreams  have  more  than  once  proved  more  per- 


330      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

manent  than  the  empires  which  mocked  them  in  their 
pride  and  the  forces  which  sought,  in  their  arrogance  of 
station  and  possession,  to  silence  them.  The  world  at 
large  has  never  been  seen  yet  on  the  side  of  too  much 
idealism ;  here,  if  anywhere,  we  need  correction. 

Without  any  doubt  Tolstoy  has  largely  influenced  our 
own  time,  even  where  we  do  not  dream  his  influence 
to  run.  Already  some  of  his  revolutionary  proposals 
have  become  our  commonplaces.  The  forces  of  ideal- 
ism, which  are  just  now  challenging  every  accepted 
position  and  reaching  forward  across  even  adamantine 
barriers  towards  the  realization  of  a  better  world,  have 
drawn  their  strength  from  a  multitude  of  sources.  We 
have  only  to  study  the  lives  of  many  men  who  are  con- 
spicuous just  now  for  their  idealistic  leadership  to  find 
how  far  by  their  own  confession  they  have  been  influenced 
by  the  great  Russian.  His  weakness,  then,  is  not  that  he 
is  dreamer  or  even  pure  dreamer — pure  dreamer  indeed 
he  never  was  ;  there  was  always  a  practical  side  to  the 
man's  life  which  was  capable,  upon  occasion,  of  large 
effectiveness  ;  his  fine  leadership  in  relief  work  during  a 
Russian  famine  showed  that.  He  had  a  power  of 
organization  and  direction  which  would  put  him  as  an 
equal,  for  example,  alongside  any  of  the  Red  Cross 
leaders  of  our  own  time.  He  did  not,  however,  consider 
his  service  to  be  in  such  fields  ;  he  approached  them  re- 
luctantly, turned  from  them  gladly  and  became  again  the 
stern,  sad  prophet,  the  protagonist  of  gentleness,  love  and 
stainlessness  in  the  souls  of  men.  He  was  wrong,  if  any- 
where, in  his  underestimate  of  the  price  at  which  all  this 
was  to  be  attained ;  he  simplified  life  far  too  much — the 
redemption  of  our  common  life  is  much  more  than  the 
formula   of  the   salvation    of  the    individual:    it   is   the 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  331 

salvation  of  the  individual  in  the  mass  and  even  by  the 
mass,  a  distinction  which  Tolstoy  never  clearly  grasped. 
The  world  is  to  be  saved,  not  by  the  withdrawal  of  the 
individual  into  lonely  and  isolated  simplifications  of  peas- 
ant-like hfe,  but  in  the  consecration  of  society  itself  to 
the  tasks  of  its  own  redemption.  Nay,  if  St.  Paul  and 
St.  Augustine  are  not  mistaken,  even  this  is  not  enough  : 
the  salvation  of  the  world  demands  not  only  the  con- 
secration of  society  to  redemptive  tasks,  but  the  reenforce- 
ment  of  a  redemptive  society  by  the  indwelling  spirit  of 
a  redemptive  God  who  has  made  Himself  manifest  in  a 
redemptive  incarnation  and  set  up  the  cross  as  the  eternal 
sign  of  the  comradeship  between  the  human  and  the 
divine  in  the  great  tasks  of  making  men  indeed  the 
children  of  mercy  and  justifying  the  travail  of  the  Eternal. 
In  the  end  Leo  Tolstoy  was  excommunicated  by  the 
Greek  Church,  not  the  first  of  the  great-souled  sons  of 
men  to  be  so  singled  out  nor  in  all  likelihood  the  last. 
Excommunication  is  sometimes  the  greatest  honour 
which  a  decadent  church  can  bestow  upon  God's  prophet 
and  the  greatest  condemnation  which  she  can  visit  upon 
herself.  There  is  a  terrible  reflex  power  in  excommunica- 
tion and  more  tlian  once  such  ecclesiastical  anathemas 
have  done  nothing  more  than  to  separate  the  authorities 
which  pronounced  them  still  further  from  the  Master 
whom  they  vainly  sought  to  honour  and  defend.  It  is 
an  open  question  how  far  Jesus  of  Nazareth  would  have 
found  in  Leo  Tolstoy  a  wholly  balanced  and  clear  visioned 
interpreter  of  His  teachings,  but  it  is  beyond  debate,  if 
the  Gospel  in  any  fashion  portrays  what  He  was  or  what 
He  said,  that  He  would  have  recognized  in  Tolstoy  a 
disciple  and  would  have  stood  in  wonder  and  aghast  at 
the  claim  of  Pobiedonostzeff  and  the  Church  of  which  he 


332      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

was  the  patriarch  to  represent  His  hfe,  reincarnate  His 
authority,  continue  His  temper  and  defend  His  honour. 

It  remains  to  be  said  that  Tolstoy's  long  and  dra- 
matic life  and  immense  labour  do  not  bring  us  into 
clear  or  final  regions.  He  is,  in  many  ways,  a  better 
witness  than  guide.  He  bears  a  compelling  testimony 
to  the  inability  of  things  to  satisfy  the  soul ;  he  testifies 
also  that  we  are  in  sore  danger  of  forgetting  elemen- 
tal things — labour,  simplicity  of  life  and  singleness  of 
vision.  What  light  he  has  he  owes  to  his  singleness  of 
vision.  "  If  the  eye  be  single,"  said  the  Master,  •*  the 
whole  body  will  be  full  of  light."  The  very  complexity 
of  our  vision  blinds  us  to  the  reality  of  things.  Because 
Tolstoy  shook  himself  free  of  position,  convention,  pre- 
supposition and  sought,  as  far  as  possible,  to  free  himself 
from  the  recurrent  restlessness  of  unassuaged  desire,  he 
saw  the  contradictions  of  life,  the  fundamental  inequaUties 
of  our  social  state,  the  injustices  of  much  which  we  accept 
as  a  matter  of  course,  the  tragic  sterility  of  war  and  its 
brutalities.  His  great  literary  genius,  his  dramatic  posi- 
tion, the  appealing  qualities  of  his  manhood  gave,  to  his 
affirmation  of  all  these  things,  a  carrying  quality  which 
won  him  the  hearing  of  the  civilized  world.  Very  likely 
his  supreme  service  to  our  time  is  more  distinctly  here 
than  anywhere  else. 

The  social  character  of  the  quest  becomes  vividly  ap- 
parent in  Tolstoy.  No  one  of  the  men  heretofore  con- 
sidered has  had  any  such  sense  of  what  may  be  called  the 
communal  character  of  any  real  peace  as  the  great  Rus- 
sian. In  many  ways  more  hopelessly  individualistic  than 
even  Bunyan's  Christian,  who  set  out  running  alone, 
Tolstoy  never  for  a  moment  forgets  the  encompassing 
comradeships   of  the  weary  and  heavy  laden.     We  are 


TOLSTOY'S  CONFESSIONS  333 

sure  now  of  one  thing :  we  shall  never  enter  into  what- 
ever measure  of  peace  life  keeps  for  men  except  as  that 
peace  is  shared.  We  are  all  bound  up  in  one  bundle ;  a 
lonely  redemption  is  no  redemption  at  all  nor  is  there 
any  real  escape  from  a  situation  in  which  others  are  in- 
volved except  as  they  also  are  set  free.  The  impulses  by 
which  Tolstoy  began  directly  to  be  stirred,  once  he 
sought  really  to  conform  his  life  to  the  teachings  of  Jesus 
Christ,  are  moreover  a  compelling  illustration  of  the 
dynamic  of  the  Gospel.  We  do  not  need  to  go  all  the 
way  with  Tolstoy  in  his  unqualified  acceptance  of  teach- 
ings which,  even  upon  the  lips  of  Jesus,  were  never  un- 
qualified and  were  always  subordinate  to  larger  determin- 
ing processes  whose  full  significance  Tolstoy  never  seems 
to  have  sensed,  to  recognize  that  there  is  no  way  except 
the  way  which  Jesus  indicated.  The  more  clearly  we 
discern,  the  more  patiently  and  bravely  we  follow  His 
roads,  the  clearer  the  light  into  which  we  come.  Tolstoy 
did  not  solve  all  his  own  problems  or  furnish  his  disciples 
with  any  final  formula,  but  his  Hfe  was  increasingly  fruit- 
ful in  all  fine  and  continuing  things  as  he  walked  more 
intimately  in  the  comradeship  of  the  Nazarene.  Could 
he  have  grasped  more  strongly  the  full  significance  of  the 
Kingdom  teaching  with  its  emphasis  upon  fellowship  and 
cooperation — so  supplementing  his  exaltation  of  lonely 
citizenship  with  the  kindling  sense  of  encompassing  and 
transforming  comradeships — he  would  have  spoken  more 
truly  and  saved  himself  and  his  disciples  much  wander- 
ing in  waste  places. 

Finally  Tolstoy  testifies  more  distinctly  than  any  of  the 
great  seekers  that  the  search  itself  is  part  of  the  meaning 
of  Hfe.  We  have  striven  to  draw  an  impossible  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  journey  and  its  goal,  between 


334      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

the  quest  and  its  recompense.  We  are  always  assuming 
that  somewhere  at  the  end  of  the  road  are  cities  of  seren- 
ity, sheltering  sanctuaries,  which  finally  attained,  we  shall 
be  at  rest.  It  is  not  so.  The  quest  and  the  goal  are  one 
and  the  same  thing ;  the  deepest  peace  is  to  be  sought 
not  at  the  end  of  the  journey,  but  in  the  journey  itself. 
The  only  serenity  which  Hfe  offers  men  is  the  serenity  of 
ceaseless  endeavour.  We  want  indeed  to  be  quite  sure 
of  our  road  and  our  guide,  but  given  the  right  road  and 
the  right  guide  the  glory  of  life  is  to  be  always  going  on. 
It  is  not  in  arriving  that  we  are  blessed,  but  in  endlessly 
aspiring.  All  this  is  not  incompatible  with  an  inner 
quietness,  a  sustaining  confidence,  a  growing  sense  of  the 
worth  of  the  whole  endeavour.  The  poets  are  here  truer 
teachers  than  the  theologians.     Virtue,  indeed, 

*'  Desires  no  isles  of  the  blest,  no  quiet  seats  of  the  just. 
Nor  to  dream   in  golden  groves,  nor  to  bask  in  a  summer 
sky." 

The  greatest  thing  the  quest  can  yield  us  is  an  uncon- 
querable passion  for  perfection  which  in  the  face  of  the 
Ultimate  Shadow  seeks  only  the  "  wages  of  going  on  and 
not  to  die  "  and  shouts  aloud  when  the  lesser  levels  have 
been  gained  :  ♦•  Other  heights  in  other  lives,  God  willing." 


Conclusion 

THERE  seems  now  a  place,  at  the  end  of  these 
studies,  for  some  estimate  of  the  whole  move- 
ment with  which  they  have  been  concerned. 
Since  Tolstoy  there  has  been  no  commanding  figure,  no 
outstanding  personality  in  which  the  quest  is  made  in- 
carnate.  Nietzsche  represents,  perhaps,  the  other  modern 
interpretation  of  life  upon  which  we  might  dwell.  With- 
out doubt  the  teachings  of  Nietzsche  are  influencing  men 
to-day  who  do  not  clearly  know  from  what  sources  their 
working  philosophy  of  hfe  is  drawn.  His  philosophy  of 
the  superman  has  been  gratefully  received  in  many 
quarters  because  it  coincides  so  completely  with  certain 
aspects  of  modern  science  and  secures  anew  the  vindication 
and  reenforcement  of  pride,  ambition  and  endless  forms 
of  self-affirmation.  It  is  only  the  doctrine  of  the  survival 
of  the  fittest,  raised  to  the  dignity  of  a  gospel  and  in- 
vested, in  some  instances,  with  great  literary  charm  and, 
in  the  case  of  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw,  with  an  almost  fiendish 
cleverness.  Tolstoy  and  Nietzsche  are  at  opposite  poles. 
Stripped  bare  of  whatever  glamour  the  gospel  of  the 
superman  possesses  it  is  nothing  other  than  the  pitiless 
and  unqualified  affirmation  of  the  right  of  the  strong  to 
rule  and  of  the  fit  to  climb,  no  matter  at  what  cost  the 
stairs  by  which  they  climb  are  built  or  with  what  blood 
and  tears  their  cement  is  watered.  Nietzsche  was  willing 
enough  to  confess  himself  the  antichrist.  However  his 
teachings  may  have  been  qualified  in  his  own  mind,  there 

335 


336      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

are  vast  reaches  of  our  common  life  to-day  in  which  they 
hold  without  ethical  qualifications.  All  remorseless  com- 
petition in  business,  all  self-centredness  in  social  life, 
all  paucity  of  pity,  all  brutal  heedlessness  of  the  cry  of 
the  weak  and  submerged,  every  manifestation  of  the 
mailed  fist  which  is  fast  making  Europe  an  armed  camp, 
the  disregard  of  not  only  the  conventions  of  morality  but 
even  the  fundamentals  of  ethics  in  which  the  strong  pre- 
sume to  ride  abroad,  are  all  in  one  form  or  another  the 
gospel  of  the  superman,  manifestations  of  the  spirit  of 
which  the  strange  half-mad  genius  of  Nietzsche  has  been 
the  protagonist  in  literature  and  philosophy. 

The  fault  in  all  this,  we  see  clearly  enough,  is  in  its 
lack  of  spiritual  vision.  The  law  of  the  survival  of  the 
fittest  is  not  easily  to  be  set  to  one  side,  but  we  have  still 
to  decide  who  are  the  fit.  The  strong  will  always  be  the 
masters  of  the  world ;  the  world  has  yet  to  be  taught  in 
what  its  strength  is  really  resident.  We  shall  always  be 
needing  stairs  by  which  to  climb,  but  it  is  at  least  an  open 
question  whether  the  steps  of  humanity's  ascent  are  not 
likely  to  better  bear  the  unbelievable  burden  which  is  laid 
upon  them  if  they  are  cemented  in  pity  and  in  brother- 
hood. Charles  Rand  Kennedy  in  "  The  Terrible  Meek  " 
is  a  better  interpreter  of  the  all-conquering  force  in  whose 
might  the  field  of  Armageddon  is  finally  to  be  won  than 
Frederick  Nietzsche.  All  the  spiritual  gropings,  striv- 
ings, restlessnesses  of  our  contemporaneous  world  are 
bounded  on  the  one  side  by  Tolstoy  who  builds  for  our 
ascent  but  stairs  of  sand,  and  on  the  other  by  Nietzsche 
who  builds  for  our  ascent  stairs  cemented  in  unheeded 
blood  and  tears.  We  are  waiting  still  our  prophet  and 
leader. 

Meanwhile,  any  one  who  would  trace  the  quest  in  con- 


CONCLUSION  337 

temporaneous  literature  must  seek  it  in  manifold  places, 
discern  its  outgoing  in  manifold  forces.  It  expresses  itself 
in  strange  and  bizarre  religious  movements,  in  minor 
poetic  strains,  in  a  great  social  passion,  in  theological  re- 
constructions, in  a  body  of  fiction  which,  here  and  there, 
discloses  some  little  feeling  for  the  process  by  which  re- 
demption is  to  be  secured,  but  which  too  often  succeeds 
only  in  involving  men  and  women  in  a  coil  of  difficult 
situations  which  the  novelist  has  sense  enough  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  life  to  conceive,  but  not  sense  enough  of  the  re- 
demptive power  of  love  and  righteousness  to  untangle. 
For  the  most  part  a  note  of  unhappiness  and  discourage- 
ment has  latterly  been  more  evident  than  anything  else, 
but  there  are  not  wanting  signs  of  the  emergence  of  a 
braver,  truer  temper  and  always  the  light  of  the  morning 
is  along  the  eastern  sky.  No  one  would  dare  to  prophesy 
the  ways  in  which  emancipation,  reconcihation  and  re- 
demption are  finally  to  come,  but  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  we  shall  find,  as  our  troubled  age  comes  again  to  the 
true  highroads  of  Hfe,  that  life  itself  is  so  great  as  to  de- 
mand not  one,  but  manifold  formulas  for  its  solution. 

Marcus  Aurelius  has  still  much  to  teach  us ;  we  shall 
never  be  set  free  from  the  need  of  a  certain  stoicism  ;  we 
shall  always  need  to  be  assured  that  there  are  inner 
citadels  which  cannot  be  taken  and  that  in  part,  at  least, 
the  integrity  of  life  is  secured  as  we  retreat  into  the  in- 
violable domain  of  our  own  souls.  The  master  affirma- 
tions of  St.  Augustine  will  rule  in  the  future  as  in  the 
past ;  men  are  never  wholly  free  until  they  are  freed  from 
their  lesser,  meaner  selves.  We  are  made  for  God  and 
are  restless  till  we  rest  in  Him.  Our  broken  purposes 
gain  power  and  integrity  only  as  they  are  subdued  to  the 
dominant  music  of  the  sovereign  will  of  a  righteous  love. 


338      PILGRIMS  OF  THE  LONELY  ROAD 

There  is  no  freedom  except  the  freedom  of  perfect  obe- 
dience. We  shall  still  need  to  be  taught  by  Thomas  a 
Kempis  that  there  is  no  road  to  power  save  the  Royal 
Road  of  the  Cross.  We  shall  take  counsel  with  the  mys- 
tics and  know  from  them  that  God  is  no  mere  deduction, 
but  a  very  living  experience ;  that  the  ways  of  approach 
into  His  presence  are  always  open ;  that  when  forms  fail 
us  and  mediations  obscure  instead  of  reveal,  He  is 
always  closer  than  breathing,  nearer  than  hands  or  feet. 
John  Bunyan  will  always  be  teaching  us  that  we  have 
here  no  abiding  city ;  that  life  is  a  pilgrimage ;  that 
the  experiences  which  unite  us  are  more  compelling 
than  the  conceptions  which  divide  us ;  and  that  there 
is  in  all  spiritual  endeavour  a  lonely  quality  which 
drives  each  man  out  along  a  hard  road  towards  far 
shining  hopes.  The  deepening  sensitiveness  which  seems 
a  part  of  civilization  will  give  us  increasingly  such  a  sense 
of  the  wonder  and  mystery  of  life  as  lends  its  magic  to 
the  pages  of  Amiel.  Newman  must  teach  us  to  correct 
our  individualism  by  the  sense  of  historic  processes  and 
ordered  forms  into  which  the  needs  and  aspirations  of 
men  have  been  built  through  the  centuries.  Having  had 
Tolstoy  we  shall  never  forget  that  where  the  eye  is  single 
the  whole  body  is  full  of  light ;  that  simplicity,  courage 
and  labour  are  the  keys  which  unlock  many  doors ;  that 
the  nearer  men  live  to  elemental  things  the  more  nearly 
does  the  strength  of  the  elemental  come  into  their  lives. 
The  great  assurances  of  Saul  of  Tarsus  must  finally 
crown  and  establish  all  our  spiritual  endeavour. 
/^  Life  does  not  grow  more  simple  with  the  passing 
years,  but  its  deeper  needs  are  unchanging.  The  secret 
of  peace  is  not  to  be  sought  at  the  end  of  the  road,  but 
in  the  spirit  in  which  we  journey.     It  is  to  be  sought  in 


CONCLUSION  339 

the  consciousness  of  the  sustaining  love  of  a  God  who  is 
committed,  by  the  very  nature  of  His  Godhead,  to  a  real 
participation  in  all  our  strife ;  who  does  not  release  us 
from  the  battle,  but  who  shares  the  fight ;  who  does  not 
set  us  free  from  the  possibility  of  pain  and  tears,  but  who 
feels  the  hurt  of  our  wounds,  the  salt  bitterness  of  our 
sorrow ;  who  spends  Himself,  not  only  with  us,  but  for 
us,  and  in  the  travail  of  redemptive  passion  anticipates 
the  victories  of  the  spirit.  And  finally  whatever  pilgrim- 
age we  undertake  must  be  undertaken,  in  spite  of  the  in- 
terior loneliness  of  all  great  spiritual  processes,  in  the 
comradeship  of  our  kind  and  all  well-being  must  always  be 
our  goal.  We  are  never  to  forget  that  we  are  all  so  tied 
up  in  one  bundle  that  peace  and  reconciliations  in  which 
others  are  not  involved  are  quite  impossible.  The  note 
of  service  must  be  deepened  and  in  our  care  for  those  who 
lie  wounded  or  broken  along  the  road  we  shall  forget  our 
own  wounds  and  our  own  wearinesses.  So  conceived,  so 
reenforced,  life  is  never  impossible,  but  does  indeed  be- 
come, so  these  books  and  leaders  teach  us,  an  adventure 
whose  greatness  is  its  own  best  justification  and  whose 
difficulties  may  become  for  the  faithful  and  discerning 
but  stairs  of  ascent  to  radiant  and  triumphant  regions. 


Frinted  in  tht  United  States  of  Americ* 


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